M 


OF  TUG 


OLDCST 


JUL16T  WILBOR  TOMI/iS 

w/ 


"Where  do  you  come  in?"  he  wanted  to  know 


AT  THE  SIGN  of 

THE  OLDEST 

HOUSE 


T^o 


omance 


BY 


JULIET  WiLBOR 


Author  of 

Pleasures  and  Palaces,  The  Seed  of 
the  Righteous,  etc. 

Illustrated  by 

EDWARD  L.  CHASE 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


"i 

9 


COPYRIGHT  1917 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


miss  or 

BRAUNWOHTH    ft    CO. 

fOOK    MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN.     N.     Y. 


ANN  SETON 

HER  BOOK 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I  PANSY  ARRIVES 

II  THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

III  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH   . 

IV  THE  WISHING  RING   .          .          . 
V  THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD  . 

VI  THE  PHILOBIBLON       .    •-.-.- 

VII  THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 


PAGE 
1 

10 

45 

78 

114 

148 

183 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
OLDEST  HOUSE 


PANSY  ARRIVES 

THE  walls  showed  the  original  stone, 
massive  oblong  blocks,  porous  with  age,  un 
der  a  roof  of  gray  and  rotting  shingles, 
shapeless  as  some  old  bit  of  felt  that  has 
once  been  a  hat.  The  casement  windows 
of  both  stories  were  modern,  but  the  great, 
black,  hand-hewn  door,  held  together  by 
iron  bands,  needed  no  proof  of  authenticity. 
Though  the  component  parts  were  so  large, 
the  house  itself  was  tiny,  and  might  have 
stood  at  a  meeting  of  English  lanes.  Over 
the  door  hung  a  shabby  sign : 

OLDEST  HOUSE  IN  AMERICA 
Curios — Valuable  Antiques — Paintings 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Tourists  drifted  in  by  twos  and  threes, 
pausing  just  inside  the  door  to  enjoy  the 
mellow  brown  pleasantness  of  the  raftered 
room,  the  rich  lights  given  out  by  massed 
glass  and  china,  gold  and  bronze  and  old 
dull  jewels,  inlaid  woods  and  paintings 
grown  mysteriously  black.  At  first  they 
were  scarcely  aware  of  a  small  elderly 
woman  who  took  a  quarter  from  every  one 
over  twelve,  and  turned  a  darkly  suspicious 
stare  on  any  one  who  claimed  to  be  under 
that  age.  She  allowed  them  to  browse  hap 
pily  among  the  treasures,  keeping  on  them 
the  eye  of  a  Yankee  schoolmistress  who 
watches  her  class  room  fill,  but  letting  them 
imagine  themselves  free  until  a  dozen  or 
more  had  collected;  then  she  suddenly  un 
locked  her  lips  and  released  her  tale. 

"La's  and  gen'm,  this  sword  with  the 
2 


PANSY  ARRIVES 

'grave'  gol'  scabbard  'nlaid  with  for-ty- 
sev-en  precious  stone  'nclud'  di's,  rub's, 
sapph's,  was  p'sented  Gen'  La-fay-ette  on 
the  'casion  of  his  last  vis't  to  'Mer'ca  in 
rec'nition  'fis  dis-tin-guished  services  to  'r 
coun'ry.  This  dull  black  weap'n,  of  no 
grace  or  beauty,  carr'  by  a  cont'nental  sol 
dier  Gen'  Israel  Putnam's  c'mand — "  and 
so  on  in  a  steady  drone  that  filled  every  cor 
ner  of  the  room  and  permitted  no  escape. 
How  she  managed  to  keep  up  her  unbroken 
recital,  collect  fresh  quarters,  guard  the 
treasures  while  she  herded  her  flock  up 
stairs  as  well  as  down,  would  have  been  a 
wonder  to  an  inquiring  spirit.  But  the  tour 
ists  only  found  her  funny  or  terrifying  or  a 
nuisance;  not  one  ever  thought  about  her 
side  of  it. 

When  the  closing  hour  drove  the  last  vis- 

3 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

itor  to  the  threshold,  she  was  still  nursing 
her  arms  with  a  truculent  alertness,  but 
sometimes  the  final  closing  of  the  door 
seemed  to  clap  the  strength  out  of  her,  leav 
ing  her  a  little  bent  old  shell  of  a  woman, 
almost  too  tired  to  brew  her  cup  of  tea.  Yet 
the  spirit  never  got  so  far  down  that  a  touch 
on  the  knocker  could  not  bring  it  up  again, 
militant. 

Few  but  Mr.  Angus  came,  for  this  was 
the  loneliest  little  crooked  street  in  the 
world,  though  it  was  but  ten  minutes  long, 
and  the  main  business  of  the  city  streamed 
past  its  lower  end.  At  the  joining,  the  black 
iron  sign  of  Angus  MacDonald,  Antiques 
and  Reproductions,  hung  from  a  quaintly 
plastered  and  gabled  front  that  ignored  a 
plain  American  clapboarded  rear.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Angus  himself  presented  a  little  the 

4 


PANSY  ARRIVES 

same  combination.  He  was  a  stooping 
young  man  with  a  poetic  face,  older  than 
his  twenty-eight  years  warranted,  though 
undoubtedly  not  so  old  as  it  had  once  been 
for  eighteen.  But,  though  his  dark  eyes 
dreamed  and  his  sparse  black  hair  clung  to 
an  artist's  skull,  his  skilful  hands  could 
make  or  mend  anything,  and  his  apprecia 
tion  of  the  Jacobean  and  Georgian  periods 
did  not  prevent  him  from  being  an  extraor 
dinarily  good  business  man  in  the  era  of 
Woodrow  Wilson.  He  had  been  sketching 
some  lovely  old  Tudor  carving  for  the  past 
fortnight,  and  so,  coming  up  the  lane  nearly 
every  night,  he  perhaps  saw  more  than  the 
oaken  fruits  and  garlands. 

"Mrs.  Sparks,  when  is  that  granddaugh 
ter  coming?"  he  kept  suggesting. 

"What  do  I  want  of  a  girl  about  under 
5 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

my  feet?"  was  the  spirited  answer.  "There's 
work  enough  in  this  place  now." 

"But  mightn't  she  be  helpful?" 

"She  might."  There  was  grim  humor  in 
the  admission.  "Yes,  I  dare  say  she  might 
be — a  girl  of  eighteen  with  her  head  full  of 
nonsense.  She  wants  to  'see  life,'  she  writes 
me.  That's  why  she's  eager  to  come  down 
here  and  rub  up  the  brass.  H'h!"  And  Mrs. 
Sparks,  taking  one  of  Daniel  Webster's  and 
irons  into  her  lap,  polished  it  with  a  relent- 
lessness  that  made  one  glad  it  was  not  a 
grandchild. 

Mr.  Angus  spoke  absently,  his  eyes  on  his 
sketch:  "You  can  see  life  anywhere  you 
look  for  it,  can't  you?" 

"Well,  I  guess  Pansy'd  be  looking  on 
Main  Street — somewheres  between  the 
movies  and  the  soda  fountains.  Pansy!" 

6 


PANSY  ARRIVES 

Mrs.  Spark's  nose  made  visible  and  audible 
comment.  "Of  all  the  foolish  names  to  start 
a  girl  out  with — and  my  daughter's  a  real 
sensible  woman,  too.  Pansy's  what  we 
named  the  cows,  back  where  I  was  raised." 

"Has  the  name  influenced  her?"  Mr. 
Angus  wanted  to  know. 

"How  can  I  tell?  I  haven't  seen  her  for 
a  dozen  years.  And  I  don't  mean  to.  I'd 
like  to  see  my  daughter — "  the  busy  hands 
faltered,  the  eyes  fixed  on  things  distant  and 
past;  then  Daniel  Webster  was  set  down 
with  a  reproving  bump.  "But  I  don't  want 
any  Pansys  here,  and  I'm  going  to  write  and 
tell  them  so,"  she  concluded  crisply.  "They 
needn't  to  worry  about  me.  I  guess  I  can 
manage  a  few  years  yet."  She  put  away  her 
polishes,  moving  painfully,  her  hand  occa 
sionally  pressed  against  her  hip.  "It's  time 

7 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

to  close  up  the  house,"  she  added,  and  he 
rose  in  some  haste.  She  had  been  sending 
him  home  ever  since  he 'was  a  lanky  boy, 
mooning  over  the  treasures  instead  of  play 
ing  ball  and  making  a  healthy  noise. 

Mr.  Angus  put  his  sketches  under  his  arm 
and  opened  the  great  door;  then,  his  good 
night  swallowed,  he  dropped  back  until  the 
long  carved  table  stopped  him.  He  looked 
startled,  yet  dubious,  as  though  he  had  seen 
such  things  before  and  they  had  always 
turned  out  to  be  illusions. 

The  door  had  swung  wide,  and  framed 
against  the  blackness  without  stood  youth 
incarnate,  the  radiant  young  womanhood  of 
a  free  country,  shy  yet  unafraid,  gallantly 
planted  on  two  sturdy  feet.  The  light  of 
the  old  room  poured  over  that  one  spot, 
leaving  the  man  and  the  old  woman  in 

8 


"Granny,  I'm  Pansy!"  she  said,  as  one  who  tells  glorious  news 


PANSY  ARRIVES 

shadow.  Eyes  like  excited  corn-flowers 
shone  on  them  out  of  a  rosy  face,  broad 
and  deeply  curving  over  a  throat  as  soft  as 
a  bird's.  Health,  wealth,  happiness — all  the 
good  wishes  seemed  to  have  come  to  the 
threshold  of  the  Oldest  House.  The  three 
waited  in  silent  suspense,  as  though  they 
recognized  the  size  of  this  moment  in  their 
histories.  Then  the  girl  spoke  in  a  clear 
young  voice  that  bubbled  over  with  the  fun 
of  life: 

"Granny,  I'm  Pansy!"  she  said,  as  one 
who  tells  glorious  news. 


II 

THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 


THE  door  of  the  Oldest  House  in  Amer 
ica  was  swinging  back  with  a  new  energy. 
Tourists  were  greeted  now  by  a  rosy  maid, 
dressed  in  an  old-time  costume,  who  took 
their  quarters  and  made  them  register  in 
the  visitors'  book  with  a  suppressed  air  of 
finding  it  fun.  The  lifted  face  under  the 
Elizabethan  cap,  the  print  gown  and  scarlet 
stockings  played  their  ancient  part  so  de 
lightfully  that  the  tourists  would  have  ex 
pressed  their  appreciation  according  to 
their  kind,  but  the  doorkeeper  was  strictly 
business,  and  would  give  no  response  beyond 
10 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

that  effect  of  firmly  crushed  dimples.  The 
only  conversation  was  the  custodian's  relent 
less  tale. 

"La's  and  gen'm,  this  gen-u-ine  Chippen 
dale  highboy,  'riginally  made  for  King 
George  II,  was  brought  o'er  in  Mayflower 
by  'nancestor  Tho's  Jefferson,  and  was  'n 
use  by  the  grea'  statesman  till's  death.  The 
solid  Sheffield  snuffers  and  tray  that  you 
see —  You  come  with  us,  and  I'll  tell  you 
the  beginning  later,"  she  interrupted  her 
self,  speaking  with  some  sharpness  to  a 
couple  that  had  just  entered.  She  might 
have  been  marking  them  "tardy"  in  her  class 
book.  They  were  a  properous,  even  an  im 
posing  young  couple,  the  stalwart  man  car 
rying  an  air  of  college  honors,  the  girl  of  a 
pretty  moth-like  delicacy,  but  they  meekly 
fell  in  with  the  group. 

ii 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

The  high  drone  ran  on,  staccato  facts  jet 
ting  out  at  intervals:  "We  pause  in  rev'- 
rence  'fore  this  picture  of  the  seated  Ma 
donna.  You  will  'bserve  cherub  in  lower 
lef  corner;  the  gr-e-a-t  Raphael  himself  is 
s'pos'  to've  pain'  the  hands.  Connoisseurs 
from  alloworld  have  stood  here  and  agreed 
that  only  the  gr-e-a-t  Raphael  could  'a'  pain' 
those  hands.  .  .  .  'Cravings  showing 
Hamlet  at  the  Grave  of  Yor'k  and  Gen'l 
Lee's  Surrender  were  once  in  the  p'ssession 
of  Aaron  Burr,  as  was  also  this  round  lava 
snuff-box  with  view  V'suvius  on  the  lid. 
This  gate-legged  table  of  cherrywood — " 

The  group  listened  solemnly,  lower  jaws 
slightly  dropped;  only  the  distinguished 
new  couple  exchanged  smiles.  Presently 
these  two  tried  to  linger  over  a  set  of  rose 
luster,  but  were  firmly  summoned. 

12 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

"If  you  don't  keep  up,  you'll  miss  what 
I'm  saying,  and  I  can't  say  it  twice  for  one 
group,"  the  custodian  explained,  not  dis 
agreeably,  but  as  one  who  expounds  com 
mon  sense  to  the  young  mind.  The  girl  se 
cretly  pinched  the  man's  fingers  as  they  ha 
stened  to  obey.  It  was  so  deftly  done  that 
none  of  the  group  saw,  but  Pansy  straight 
ened  like  an  angler  who  feels  a  bite,  and  put 
a  tiny  pencil  mark  on  the  door-post,  where 
there  was  a  long  row  of  such  marks.  Her 
round  blue  eyes  did  not  again  leave  them. 

"We  come  now  to  one  of  the  most  pre 
cious  treasures  of  this  'nique  c'lection.  This 
rosewood  cradle  was  slep'  in  by  the  grea' 
Georg'  Wash'  when  he  was  a  babe.  Rub 
your  hand  on  it  and  you  will  be  cured  of  the 
habit  of  telling  lies."  The  customary  pause 
was  made,  and  after  the  customary  giggles 

13 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

and  hesitations,  shy  hands  were  rubbed 
along  the  cradle's  edge.  Mrs.  Sparks  stood 
by  like  one  who  holds  a  glass  for  a  child  to 
drink,  her  eyes  on  her  own  affairs,  and  took 
no  note  of  who  rubbed  and  who  did  not,  but 
Pansy  edged  near  to  her  couple.  The  girl 
had  put  out  a  hand  toward  the  cradle,  but 
hesitated,  and  finally,  with  a  laugh,  drew  it 
back. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  be  absolutely 
cured  of  telling  lies,"  she  protested,  looking 
up  for  him  to  find  that  charming.  It  was 
evidently  expected  of  everything  she  did. 

"You  couldn't  tell  a  lie  to  save  your 
neck,"  the  young  man  returned,  his  own 
hand  meanwhile  giving  the  cradle  an  honest 
rub. 

"Yes,  I  could,"  she  insisted.  "I  often 
have." 

'4 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

He  took  the  statement  merely  as  more 
charm,  and  laughed  down  on  her.  "Well, 
so  long  as  you  don't  do  it  to  me — !" 

He  was,  after  all,  very  much  bigger  and 
stronger  than  she;  her  power  over  him  was 
merely  his  voluntary  submission  to  the 
silken  thread  of  her  charm.  Perhaps  some 
realization  of  this  touched  her,  for  a  shadow 
crossed  her  face.  She  defied  it,  however, 
and  pulled  the  silken  thread. 

"What  would  you  do  to  me  if  I  did?"  she 
wanted  to  know. 

"Put  you  in  the  closet." 

"But  you  would  come  in  with  me, 
wouldn't  you?"  The  thread  was  a  very 
cable,  and  brought  him  against  her  arm. 

"I  suppose  so!"  he  derided  himself. 
"Well,  give  it  a  rub,  Margy — preventive 
medicine — and  we'll  go  on." 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"I  won't  I  I  think  there  are  some  things 
one  has  a  perfect  right  to  lie  about,"  she 
maintained  pettishly,  then  looked  up  to  see 
if  the  charm  was  in  full  working  order. 
But  this  time  he  did  not  laugh. 

"I  hate  to  have  you  say  that,  even  in  fun," 
he  said.  "A  liar  is  the  one  thing  on  earth  I 
can't  stand." 

Her  pretty  person  shrank  a  little.  "Sup 
pose  I  asked  you  something  that  you  didn't 
want  to  tell — that  you  had  a  right  not  to 
tell,"  she  argued;  "shouldn't  you  be  justi 
fied—" 

"I  wouldn't  lie  to  you  if  the  truth 
wrecked  both  our  lives,"  he  said  vehe 
mently.  "Why,  Margy,  I  could  sooner 
strike  you  I" 

Her  argument  was  crushed.  He  had 
called  up  something  that  lay  deep  down  un- 

16 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

der  her  prettiness  and  charm,  something 
that  caught  at  her  breath  and  darkened  her 
lifted  eyes  with  a  passionate  reverence.  Her 
spirit  was  visibly  on  its  knees  before  him; 
but  the  custodian,  turning  back,  fixed  him 
with  stern  spectacles. 

"If  you  don't  keep  up  with  the  party,  you 
won't  know  a  thing  you've  seen,"  she  called 
at  him.  They  started,  and  their  gaiety  was 
suddenly  relit. 

"The  old  dame  will  take  a  ruler  to  me  if 
we  don't  look  out,"  he  murmured,  hurry 
ing  her  after  the  group,  which  was  mount 
ing  the  stairs  to  gape  at  Dolly  Madison's 
bed  and  Daniel  Webster's  fire-dogs  and 
Nellie  Custis's  warming  pan.  Her  hand, 
after  all,  had  not  touched  the  cradle. 

It  was  the  last  group  of  the  day.  The 
young  couple  lingered  until  Mrs.  Sparks 

17 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

began  to  spread  sheets  over  the  treasures, 
then  they  reluctantly  departed.  Pansy  knew 
how  long  it  took  them  to  reach  the  corner, 
for  she  watched  them  from  behind  Dolly 
Madison's  bed.  Then  she  came  running 
down-stairs. 

"Oh,  Granny,  it's  such  fun,"  she  cried. 
"They  are  frightfully  in  love,  and  yet  I 
think  there's  something — something  on  her 
mind—" 

"Now,  Pansy,  get  out  the  brass  polish  and 
don't  be  a  goose,"  was  the  discouraging  an 
swer. 

Pansy's  blitheness  was  undisturbed.  "I'll 
change  my  dress  first,"  she  said,  and  skipped 
away,  singing.  Taking  off  the  cap  and  the 
flowered  print  did  not  remove  her  quaint 
Elizabethan  quality.  Even  in  a  gingham 
apron  she  was  still  a  rosy  maid,  a  little 
18 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

wench,  for  a  poet's  heart,  and  her  eighteen 
was  heavenly  young. 

"They  must  be  rich,  Granny,"  she  burst 
out,  going  at  the  eternal  polishing  with  a 
rapturous  energy.  "Their  clothes  were  ac 
tually  plain,  and  yet  they  took  your  breath. 
It's  the  poorer  brides  that  are  all  fussed  up. 
They're  my  twenty-seventh  bridal  couple, 
and  it's  the  first  that  has  given  me  any  real 
thrill.  The  others  have  just  gawked  about 
and  giggled  and  said,  'Aren't  you  awful!' 
Or  else  they  made  talk,  hard — it's  funny, 
how  little  brides  have  to  say!  I  shouldn't  be 
like  that." 

"It  takes  more  than  a  husband  to  stop 
some  tongues,"  was  the  severe  rejoinder. 

Pansy  laughed.  "Well,  but,  Granny, 
listen!  Where  was  I?  Oh,  yes — thrill. 
You  see,  they  were  in  love,  but  they  weren't 

19 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

sloppy  about  it;  they  didn't  make  you  want 
to  get  away  and  beat  your  head  against  a 
wall  and  kick  something.  You  know  what 
I  mean?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do." 

"Oh,  come  off,  Granny — you  do,  too.  I 
mean,  they  were  really  romantic — not  just 
sticky.  And  there  is  something  in  her  life 
that  he  doesn't  know — I'm  sure  there  is. 
They  didn't  notice  me — " 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted,  and  she 
flew  to  answer  it.  Her  voice  sang  and  bub 
bled: 

"Oh,  hel-lo,  Mr.  Angus!" 

"Hel-lo,  Miss  Bouncing  Bet!"  The 
amused  greeting  was  followed  by  an 
amused  face;  Mr.  Angus  came  in,  carry 
ing  a  pair  of  antique  bellows  under  his  arm. 

20 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

"How  does  our  sweet  mistress?  And  have 
there  been  many  roisterers  at  the  tavern  this 
fair  night?" 

"Oh,  get  outl"  said  Pansy  frankly,  wav 
ering  between  laughter  and  resentment. 
"Why  do  you  always  talk  that  stuff  to 
me?"  she  added,  standing  very  straight  be 
fore  him  on  her  two  plump  feet  and  twirl 
ing  a  corner  of  her  apron  in  her  fingers.  He 
laughed  silently. 

"Because  in  a  previous  incarnation  my 
name  was  John  Suckling,"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  think  it  was  a  disgusting  name, 
and  I'd  keep  it  to  myself,"  she  disposed  of 
that.  "Did  you  mend  old  Cornwallis?  Oh, 
you  did,  beautifully.  Granny,  look  how  Mr. 
Angus  has  mended  old  Corny!" 

The  grandmother  looked  grudgingly  over 

21 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

her  spectacles.  "Well  enough,"  she  said 
dryly,  but  added  an  uneasy,  "It  must  have 
cost  you  a  heap  of  time,  Mr.  Angus." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  he  assured  her. 
"The  privilege  of  copying  it  more  than  re 
pays  me." 

"Could  you  copy  the  carved  oak  side 
board?  Because  there's  a  leg  of  that  coming 
loose,"  Pansy  suggested. 

Everything  that  she  said  seemed  to  give 
him  a  mysterious  joy.  He  bent  with  his 
silent  laugh  to  look  at  the  loose  leg.  "That 
will  be  nothing.  I  can  do  it  in  five  minutes," 
he  said.  "I  will  bring  over  my  tools  some 
night  soon.  Anything  else?  Miss  Pansy 
must  be  a  comfort  to  you,  Mrs.  Sparks,  find 
ing  all  the  breaks." 

"She's  well  enough,"  was  the  cool  answer. 
Then,  as  the  granddaughter  ran  up  the 
22 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

stairs,  she  beckoned  him  to  a  chair  beside 
her  and  spoke  behind  a  curved  hand:  "The 
best  girl  that  ever  lived,  Mr.  Angus  I  You 
wouldn't  believe  her  willingness.  The  cap 
and  dress  was  her  own  idea — she  saw  them 
in  that  old  book  by  your  hand.  It's  fun,  she 
says.  If  she  sells  a  postcard,  it's  fun.  It's 
fun  to  help  with  the  polishing.  She's  a  rare, 
sweet — "  She  broke  off  as  the  gay  step  came 
bouncing  down.  "Well,  Pansy,  what  more 
are  you  bothering  Mr.  Angus  with?"  she 
grumbled. 

"The  Georgian  candlestick;"  Pansy  dis 
played  it.  "The  top  wobbles;  and  if  he 
copied  it,  he'd  sell  dozens." 

"Oh,  go  along!"  said  Mrs.  Sparks,  but 
Mr.  Angus  had  taken  the  candlestick  and 
was  studying  it  interestedly. 

"It  is  worth  considering,"  he  said.   "We 

23 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

put  the  Cornwallis  bellows  in  the  window 
this  morning,  and  we  have  had  a  nibble  al 
ready.  A  young  couple  almost  bought  it." 

Pansy  started.  "Was  her  name  Margy?" 

"Why,  I  believe  it  was.  Yes;  he  called 
her  that." 

She  rejoiced  aloud.  Then  she  drew  up  a 
stool  close  in  front  of  him,  and  squeezing 
her  doubled  hands  together  on  her  squeezed 
knees,  lifted  her  face  wholly  to  his  and  took 
one  huge  breath,  that  she  need  not  again  be 
obliged  to  stop.  "Now,  Mr.  Angus,  suppose 
you  had  a  beautiful  and  charming  bride, 
and  suppose  there  was  some  dark  secret  in 
her  life  that  she  had  a  perfect  right  not  to 
tell  you  about,  but  suppose  you  asked  her 
questions :  don't  you  think  she'd  have  a  right 
to  tell  you  a  lie?" 

His  face  was  forcibly  drawn  down  into 

24 


"But  my  beautiful  bride  must  not  have  dark  secrets  from  me" 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

the  expected  seriousness.  "But  my  beautiful 
bride  must  not  have  dark  secrets  from  me," 
he  protested. 

"Oh,  well,  suppose  it  was  her  mother's 
secret:  suppose  her  mother  had  had — " 

"Now,  Pansy,  that  will  do,"  interposed 
the  grandmother,  and  added  a  parenthetic, 
"The  things  that  child  gets  hold  of  1"  to  Mr. 
Angus. 

"Well,  suppose  it,  anyway;"  Pansy 
bounced  with  impatience.  "And  suppose 
you  asked  questions,  and  I  lied  to  you.  I 
had  to."  The  clear  innocent  eyes,  lifted 
straight  to  his,  did  not  notice  how  his  mouth 
was  jerked  open,  as  though  by  a  shock,  and 
then  very  quietly  and  cautiously  closed. 
"When  you  found  it  out,  would  you  be  fu 
rious?" 

He  seemed  unable  to   answer  immedi- 

25 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

ately.  "I  should  not  like  it,"  he  said  at  last, 
but  his  tone  was  inattentive. 

"No;  now,  really,"  she  insisted,  "aren't 
there  times  when  a  lie  is  right?" 

He  roused  himself  to  meet  her  demand. 
"Not  from  my  wife  to  me,"  he  said.  "No ; 
that  is  hideous.  My  wife  need  not  have  a 
beautiful  face,  but  she  can't  do  unbeautiful 
things." 

Pansy  was  moved,  but  rebellious.  "I 
think  there  are  lots  of  worse  things  than 
lying,"  she  argued.  "So  does  Margy.  She 
wouldn't  rub  the  George  Washington  cradle 
this  afternoon,  and  I  am  sure  she  was  per 
fectly  justified." 

He  was  looking  at  her  very  kindly.  "No, 
no;  I  think  you'd  better  rub  it,  little  maid," 
he  said. 

26 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

"Pouf !  I  rub  it  every  day  with  a  chamois, 
and  it  hasn't  made  the  slightest  difference," 
was  the  robust  answer.  "Well,  Mr.  Margy 
feels  just  as  you  do;  and  I'm  afraid  there's 
trouble  ahead  for  my  twenty-seventh  couple. 
Oh,  gee,  but  I'd  like  to  know  the  end  of  the 
story!"  And  the  sigh  of  Pansy's  desire 
nearly  rent  her  garments. 

"If  they  come  back  for  the  bellows,  I  will 
find  out  all  I  can,"  he  promised. 

"Oh,  do!  Seeing  life  is  frightfully  inter 
esting,  isn't  it!"  she  went  on.  "I  see  chunks 
of  it  every  day  here.  It's  all  so  exciting  that 
some  nights  I  can't  bear  to  go  to  sleep — it's 
like  tearing  yourself  away  from  a  party." 

Mrs.  Sparks  suddenly  lifted  her  head 
from  the  old  silver  tray  she  was  rubbing. 
"I'd  like  to  know  who's  been  having  a  party 

27 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

in  the  Louis  Philippe  court  suit,"  she  said. 
"This  morning  it  was  not  as  I  left  it.  Did 
you  have  it  out,  Pansy?" 

Mr.  Angus  was  laughing,  and  the  girl 
flushed. 

"No;  I  did  not,"  she  said  resentfully. 

"Well,  it's  mighty  queer.  Some  tourist 
must  have  got  at  it  when  my  back  was 
turned.  They'll  do  anything,  those  tourists. 
Now  you  better  put  the  kettle  on  if  you  want 
any  supper,"  she  added,  and  Mr.  Angus  said 
a  hasty  good  night. 


MR.  ANGUS  came  back  the  next  evening 
with  his  box  of  tools.  Supper  and  work 
were  done,  and  Pansy  sat  on  the  door-step, 
unwontedly  quiet  and  drooping,  staring 
down  the  street  with  her  chin  on  her 
doubled  fists.  Dim  moonlight  took  the  an 
cient  house  and  the  girl  and  the  narrow 
broken  street  back  into  the  mellow  past,  and 
Angus,  pausing  before  her,  swept  long  musi 
cal  fingers  across  his  tool-box. 

"  'No  grape  that's  kindly  ripe  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft  as  she,' ' 

he  chanted;  then  dropped  down  beside  her. 
"What  were  you  looking  for,  sweet  mis 
tress?"  he  asked. 

She  had  not  given  him  the  usual  bubbling 
greeting,  and  her  answer  frowned.  "Life! 

29 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

I  was  wishing  life  would  come  down  the 
middle  of  the  street  on  a  great  white  charger 
and  sweep  me  off  into  the  thick  of  things!" 

"Ah,  and  there  came  instead  a  dealer  in 
antiques  and  reproduction  with  a  tool-box!" 
he  lamented ;  but  his  apology  was  only  skin 
deep,  and  his  smile  seemed  to  hint  that  the 
substitute  might  not  prove  such  an  anti 
climax  as  it  sounded.  "Life  arrives  in  queer 
guises,"  he  went  on.  "Perhaps,  when  it 
comes  to  sweep  you  off,  it  will  bring  a  little 
wheelbarrow  instead  of  a  white  charger." 

"Then  I  won't  go,"  was  the  severe  answer. 

His  fingers  again  struck  imaginary 
strings. 

"  'The  streets  were  so  broad  and  the  lanes 


were  so  narrow — ' 


A  wheelbarrow,  a  nice,  tidy  little  green  one 
with  a  bunch  of  flowers  painted  on  the  back, 

30 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

could  be  quite  as  poetic  as  a  white  charger," 
he  suggested. 

"You  didn't  think  so  when  you  were 
young,"  said  Pansy  in  all  unconsciousness. 
Again  she  had  delivered  a  shock  that  jerked 
open  his  mouth.  It  shut  in  a  cold  line. 

"I  didn't  suppose  I  was  exactly  ancient," 
he  observed. 

"Oh,  well,  only  compared  to  me,"  said 
Pansy  politely. 

He  took  quick  breath,  as  though  to  cast  at 
her  the  tale  of  his  years,  then  let  it  go  and 
sat  dazedly  silent;  his  head  on  his  hand 
weighed  so  heavily  that  his  elbow  visibly 
dug  into  his  knee. 

"We  had  three  bridal  couples  to-day,  but 
they  weren't  much  fun,"  Pansy  presently 
began,  kicking  listlessly  at  the  step. 

"Oh,  I  meant  to  tell  you;"  he  made  an 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

effort  to  pull  himself  back  to  his  former 
level.  "Your  couple  came  in  to-day  and 
bought  the  bellows." 

"Oh!  They  did!"  She  was  suddenly  re 
vived.  "Oh,  Mr.  Angus,  what  did  you  find 
out?  Tell  me  everything  they  said!" 

He  had  evidently  taken  very  careful  men 
tal  notes,  and  he  clasped  his  thumb  for  the 
first  item:  "They  are  on  their  way  back 
from  an  extensive  trip — plenty  of  money, 
evidently."  The  forefinger  came  next: 
"Their  home  is  in— 

"Oh,  the  facts  don't  matter,"  she  inter 
rupted.  "How  are  they  getting  on — how 
did  they  look  at  each  other?  Did  you  feel 
any  trouble?" 

He  released  his  fingers  and  considered. 
"In  a  way,  perhaps.  She  was  a  little  wist 
ful;  happy,  yet  a  bit  shadowed,  and  very, 
32 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

very  anxious  that  he  should  always  find  her 
lovely.  She  touched  me;  she  had  a  fragile, 
anemone  quality.  He  was  blunt,  almost 
rough,  beside  her.  Too  male  for  her!  She 
should  have  married  a  more  sensitive,  po 


etic—" 


"I  think  he  was  a  thousand  times  too  good 
for  her!"  The  suddenness  of  the  onslaught 
left  him  speechless.  Pansy,  bolt  upright, 
rushed  on:  "He  was  a  man,  a  big,  live, 
strong,  splendid  man,  and  she  was  a  little 
dolly  flirt.  Oh,  pretty  and  cunning  and  all 
that — just  about  good  enough  for  a  poet. 
But  she  wasn't  good  enough  for  him!" 
Truly  Pansy  was  unaccountable  to-night. 
Her  eyes  were  blazing  over  this  unknown 
pair,  and  her  intentions  were  so  plainly  hos 
tile  that  he  stiffened. 

"Are  you  not  perhaps  confusing  the  he- 

33 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

roic  quality  and  masculine  bulk?"  he  asked, 
very  coldly  and  politely.  "I  grant  you  his 
ox  muscles.  But  her  finer  fiber — " 

"She's  a  liar,"  said  Pansy.  "She  said  so 
herself." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  Presently  he 
rose  and  carried  his  tools  into  the  house. 
His  voice  could  be  heard  talking  with  Mrs. 
Sparks  as  he  tightened  the  loose  leg  of  the 
sideboard;  it  sounded  aloof  and  strange 
without  the  usual  merry  indulgence  that  he 
put  in  it  for  Pansy.  When  he  came  out,  she 
was  not  there. 

Something  was  wrong  with  Pansy.  For 
three  days  her  step  on  the  stairs  lagged,  her 
joy  was  quenched.  Nothing  was  fun.  Mrs. 
Sparks's  allusions  to  the  wrong  side  of  bed 
and  black  dogs  on  shoulders  brought  no 
response.  Some  inner  argument  went  about 

34 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

with  her,  fixing  her  eyes  .and  shaping  her 
lips  into  defiant  phrases.  The  fourth  morn 
ing  was  showery  and  few  tourists  came ;  by 
afternoon  a  heavy  downpour  seemed  to  have 
cut  them  "off  altogether.  Pansy  had  gone  to 
take  off  her  costume  when  a  knock  brought 
her  drearily  back. 

'Her  face  brightened  as  she  discovered 
her  couple.  She  would  have  turned  on  the 
lights  for  .them,  but  they  liked  the  rainy 
dimness  better,  they  protested,  openly  happy 
at  finding  the  big  room  free  of  tourists. 
Mrs.  Sparks  looked  in  from  the  kitchen, 
where  she  was  brewing  her  rheumatism 
remedy,  but,  seeing  who  it  was,  made  a 
slight  sound  in  her  nose  and  returned  to 
her  labors.  The  two  presently  drifted  to  a 
case  of  relics,  which  offered  a  resting-place 
for  elbows,  and  brought  bent  heads  close  to- 

35 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

gather.  In  the  silence  of  the  room,  they 
forgot  a  plump  Elizabethan  maid,  sitting 
as  still  as  any  of  the  antiques  in  the  shadow 
of  the  door. 

"Marie  Antoinette  was  a  great  little  old 
slipper  wearer,"  he  was  saying.  "I  never 
went  into  a  museum  yet  that  I  didn't  see  one 
of  hers." 

"You  don't  really  suppose  this  is  genu 
ine?"  she  objected. 

He  bent  to  read  the  fine-hand  inscription. 
"It  says  it  is.  What  a  doubter  you  are, 
Margy!  I  believe  everything  I'm  told." 

Her  eyes  fell  and  her  head  drooped  over 
the  case.  The  wistful  quality  that  Mr.  An 
gus  had  harped  on  was,  after  all,  a  fact. 
"That  is  because  you  are  so  splendidly  true," 
she  said.  "Some  people  aren't  born  that 
way,  dear.  They  have  to  learn  it — hard." 

36 


"What  a  doubter  you  are,  Margy !' 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

Then  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  her  eyes 
said,  "You  are  so  glorious!"  while  his  an 
swered,  "You  are  so  sweet!"  "Forgive  me 
— promise  you  will  forgive  me!"  hers 
went  on. 

"Aren't  you  getting  tired,  dear?  Ought 
you  to  be  standing?"  he  answered,  a  hand 
under  her  elbow. 

"Oh,  no;"  and  she  turned  with  a  sup 
pressed  sigh  to  the  next  case.  She  did  not 
seem  to  have  the  heart  to  pull  the  silken 
thread  this  afternoon,  but  he  came  readily 
without  it.  When  any  history  was  needed, 
he  asked  her  as  confidently  as  though  she 
had  been  his  mother,  and  she  could  always 
answer. 

"You're  uncommon  educated,  Margy," 
he  said  at  last,  straightening  up  from  some 
jeweled  orders,  whose  owners  had  all  been 

37 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

familiar  figures  to  her.  "You  got  a*  tre 
mendous  head  start  of  me  those  first  three 
months!"  She  winced,  so  sharply  that  he 
laughed,  laying  a  big  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"Goosie!  What  does  it  matter  which  of  us 
was  born  in  April  and  which  in  July?  You 
don't  really  think  that  that  makes  you  older 
than  I?" 

She  would  not  look  at  him.  "Some  girls 
wouldn't  have  told  you  at  all,"  she  said  with 
a  catch  in  her  breath,  starting  away  from 
him  so  abruptly  that  she  nearly  tripped 
over  the  George  Washington  cradle.  He 
followed  her,  still  laughing. 

"You're  putting  this  on,"  he  insisted. 
"You  don't  care — you  can't.  It's  too  ridicu 
lous."  She  stood  staring  into  the  cradle,  and 
made  no  answer.  "I  didn't  mean  to  tease 

38 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

you,  dear!"  His  hand  came  back,  coaxingly. 
"I  apologize.  I'm  a — " 

Suddenly  she  slipped  down  to  her  knees, 
one  arm  across  the  cradle,  looking  intently 
at  the  place  where  once  a  fateful  little  head 
had  rested.  After  a  long  minute,  her  hand 
softly  rubbed  the  edge. 

"I  am  three  years  older  than  you,"  she 
said,  very  quietly.  "Three  years  and  three 
months.  I  didn't  tell  you  the  truth — I  was 
afraid." 

"Why,  Margy!"  He  could  not  believe  he 
had  understood.  "What  are  you  saying?" 

"Just  that.  I  lied  to  you."  She  held  her 
self  stiffly  cool  and  aloof,  as  though  deter 
mined  to  make  no  appeal  against  his  judg 
ment.  She  did  not  need  to  look  into  his  face 
to  know  the  pain  she  had  given.  After  a 

39 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

stunned  moment,  he  made  an  effort  to  hide 
the  shocked  recoil  of  his  whole  being. 

"Girls — do  that,  I  suppose — about  age;" 
the  words  stumbled.  "Only — it  wasn't  nec 
essary,  you  know." 

"I  know  now;  but  I  didn't  then.  And  in 
the  beginning  it  didn't  seem  so  terrible.  It 
has  grown  worse  and  worse,  knowing  you; 
and  now,  knowing  what  is — "  Her  arm 
tightened  across  the  cradle.  "I  couldn't 
stand  it  another  hour.  It  scorches  me.  I 
hate  it  as  you  hate  it.  Of  course,  I  have  lost 
your  respect;  but  it  was  better — " 

His  rigidity  suddenly  melted.  "Oh,  you 
plucky  little  soul — you  true  little  soul !"  he 
muttered.  "Margy,  you're  finer  even  than 
I  knew." 

She  lifted  her  face,  her  whole  heart,  to 
him.  "You  forgive  me?" 
40 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

"My  dear!"  His  arm  raised  her,  drew 
her  beyond  the  carved  oak  sideboard.  For 
a  long  time  their  murmurs  and  their  silences 
came  from  the  John  Quincy  Adams  dav 
enport  in  its  shadow.  When  at  last  they 
emerged,  remembering  with  some  embar 
rassment  where  they  were,  the  room  was 
empty,  and  no  one  saw  the  white  peace  on 
her  upturned  face. 

"They  might  have  taken  everything  in  the 
house,"  Mrs.  Sparks  scolded,  hearing  the 
front  door  close,  and  rinding  the  treasures 
unguarded. 

Pansy  did  not  appear  until  the  afternoon 
was  over.  She  brought  a  flushed  face  and 
heavy  eyes,  and  she  went  at  the  polishing 
without  answering  sundry  comments  on 
people  who  had  time  to  sleep  all  day.  When 
the  knocker  sounded,  she  jumped. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"What  ails  you,  child?  It's  only  Mr. 
Angus,"  Granny  said,  opening  the  door 
herself. 

Mr.  Angus'  bearing  was  formal,  and  he 
held  the  Georgian  candlestick  conspicu 
ously,  that  his  coming  might  instantly  be 
explained. 

"Sit  down  a  bit.  It's  good  to  have  some 
one  to  speak  to,  for  Pansy's  lost  her  tongue," 
Mrs.  Sparks  greeted  him. 

He  looked  a  quick  question  at  Pansy.  She 
tried  to  scowl  down  a  flush,  then,  rinding  it 
hopeless,  dropped  her  work  and  started  to 
her  feet. 

"All  right  then,"  she  said  exasperatedly. 
"All  right,  all  right!"  Plunging  into  the 
shadows,  she  dragged  out  the  George 
Washington  cradle,  planted  it  with  defiant 
energy  before  them,  and  faced  them  across 
it,  her  hands  on  its  polished  hood.  "I  told 
42 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  CRADLE 

you  both  a  whopper  the  other  day,"  she 
flung  at  them.  "About  the  Louis  Philippe 
court  suit.  I  had  had  it  on  the  night  be 
fore,  after  Granny  went  to  bed — yes,  I  did, 
Granny,  the  whole  thing.  And  I  know  now 
why  they're  called  small  clothes,  for  they 
are.  But  I  did  it.  I  dressed  up  and  I  pa 
raded  round  and  had  a  heavenly  time.  Then 
Mr.  Angus  laughed,  and  I  lied.  And  now 
you  know  it."  Her  eyes  rilled,  so  she  did  not 
see  all  that  happened  in  his — the  quick  leap 
of  laughter,  then  the  compassion  and  the 
rising  joy. 

"Pansy,  you  are  a  gentleman,"  he  said 
gravely,  coming  to  take  her  hand. 

"Well,  what  you'll  be  doing  next!"  mut 
tered  Mrs.  Sparks. 

Pansy  put  back  the  cradle  with  a  hearty 
rub  and  returned  to  her  polishing.  She  had 
found  her  tongue  again,  and  her  blitheness. 

43 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"Mr.  Angus,  you  say  that  things  are  beau 
tiful  or  ugly,"  she  burst  out,  "and  Granny 
says  they're  good  or  wicked,  and  I  say  that 
they're  fun  or  they're  hateful,  but  I  guess 
we  all  mean  about  the  same  thing!" 

His  delight  in  her  carved  creases  in  his 
lean  face. 

"I  guess  we  do!"  he  assented. 

"I'm  seeing  life  every  day,"  Pansy  went 
on  with  a  long  sigh  of  content.  "I  wish  I 
had  time  to  come  and  help  in  your  shop, 
too,  Mr.  Angus.  I'll  bet  I'd  see  a  lot  of  life 
there." 

He  gave  her  an  odd  look,  then  rose  as 
though  he  had  changed  his  mind  about 
staying. 

"It  is  quite  likely  that  you  would,"  he 
said  dryly.  "Well,  I  have  letters  to  write. 
Good  night!"  And  he  left  in  haste. 

44 


Ill 

THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 


THERE  were  days  at  the  Oldest  House 
when  the  door  was  guarded  by  Mrs.  Sparks, 
upright  in  a  cushioned  chair,  her  expression 
compounded  of  human  distrust  and  sciatica, 
while  the  rosy  maid  in  her  old-time  costume 
took  the  groups  about  and  poured  out  a 
faithful  imitation  of  the  custodian's  tale. 
Pansy,  whose  youngness  was  as  flagrant  as 
a  calf's  or  a  kitten's,  could  not  keep  her 
tourists  in  the  usual  meek  bunch;  they  strag 
gled  and  interrupted  with  questions  as  they 
never  dared  do  under  Granny's  eye.  Once 
an  impertinent  pedant  even  challenged  her 
story. 

45 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"How  could  a  highboy  that  was  made  for 
George  II  have  come  over  in  the  May 
flower?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

Pansy  put  that  down  with  a  strong  hand. 
"My  grandmother  has  been  saying  it  this 
way  for  twenty  years,"  she  told  him.  "If 
you  think  you  know  more  about  it  than  she 
does — I"  Then,  seeing  him  still  disposed 
to  argue,  she  passed  abruptly  to  one  of  the 
major  attractions,  leading  her  flock  through 
a  back  door  into  an  open  court,  paved  with 
ancient  flags  that  slanted  down  toward  the 
well  in  the  middle.  A  bucket  of  water  stood 
on  the  curb,  and  a  pile  of  paper  cups.  Pansy 
took  Granny's  attitude,  holding  a  cup  over 
the  bucket,  and  unconsciously  reproducing 
her  high  drone: 

"This  well,  la's  and  gen'm,  dates  back  as 
far  as  the  house  does,  and  possibly  even 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

farther.  You  are  standing  on  the  spot  where 
the  original  Fountain  of  Youth,  so  famed 
in  song  and  story,  once  gushed  forth.  Others 
will  claim  that  theirs  is  the  original  foun 
tain,  but  this  is  known  to  be  the  only  true 
source.  In  these  living  waters  lurks  the  se 
cret  of  youth,  which  ancient  alchemy  and 
modern  science  have  in  vain  sought  to  cap 
ture.  Drink  this  and  put  off  old  age." 

Granny's  withered  hand,  when  it  was  she 
who  offered  the  cup,  might  well  have  roused 
skepticism,  and  a  modern  distrust  of  wells 
and  old  buckets  kept  back  the  majority,  but 
there  were  always  a  few  humorous  spirits 
to  try  it  and  to  enact  sudden  youth.  To 
day  the  amused  group  forgot  about  the 
George  II  highboy,  but  Pansy  was  inwardly 
perturbed.  It  had  never  before  occurred 
to  her  to  question  Granny's  tale;  and  yet,  if 

47 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

one  thought  about  dates,  there  was  a  discrep 
ancy! 

"Well,  it's  the  way  I  learned  it,"  Mrs. 
Sparks  disposed  of  the  question;  "and  I'm 
too  old  to  change.  I  guess  it's  as  true  as  the 
Fountain  of  Youth." 

Pansy  was  startled.  "But,  Granny,  there 
is  something  in  the  Fountain,"  she  main 
tained.  "Why,  look  at  Mr.  Angus.  I 
thought  he  was  about  a  hundred  when  I 
first  came,  and  I  made  him  drink  just  for 
a  joke.  But  he's  been  growing  younger  and 
younger.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?" 

Granny's  keen  glance  rested  for  a  moment 
on  the  unconscious  face.  "Well,  you  let  it 
alone,  Pansy,  or  I'll  have  to  be  buying  a 
baby  carriage,"  she  observed,  limping  off 
to  bed. 

Pansy  put  through  the  work  of  the  old 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

house  with  a  joyous  rush,  and,  after  she  had 
washed  the  supper  dishes,  sat  down  on  a  fid 
dle-back  chair  by  the  stone  hearth  to  repair 
a  beaded  hassock  that  had  once  rested  the 
feet  of  Madam  Hancock.  Sometimes  she 
hummed  or  whistled,  or  let  her  feet  do  a 
little  dance  of  their  own.  When  the  knocker 
sounded,  she  sprang  up. 

"Hel-lo,  Mr.  Angus!"  she  sang  out  be 
fore  she  could  fairly  have  seen  who  it  was. 

He  usually  answered  in  kind:  "Hel-\o, 
Miss  Bouncing  Bet!"  But  to-night  he  came 
in  with  a  grave,  "Good  evening,  Pansy." 
It  was  not  more  chilling  than  the  change 
in  the  whole  man.  His  new  youth  had  fallen 
from  him;  he  looked  sad,  and  curiously 
startled,  as  though  he  had  had  a  shock. 

"What's  wrong?"  Pansy  demanded. 

He  tried  to  smile.    "Wrong?    Nothing 

49 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

that  I  know  of.  I  have  had  rather  a — hard 
day,  that's  all." 

"I'll  bet  you  didn't  have  a  Granny  with 
sciatica  and  forty-three  tourists  on  your 
hands!?' 

He  took  that  in  with  a  somber  stare. 
"You  faithful  and  joyous  spirit!"  he  said 
suddenly.  "Nothing  is  hard  or  dull  to  you 
— or  with  you.  You  give  everything  life. 
You're  wonderful,  Pansy,  wonderful !" 

She  was  honestly  amazed.  "Me?  Why, 
Mr.  Angus — Granny  would  tell  you  better. 
She  thinks  I'm  the  scum  of  the  earth." 

She  had  made  him  smile.  Presently,  with 
the  tale  of  the  day's  adventures,  she  even 
roused  a  laugh.  She  was  proud  of  her  suc 
cess,  and  tumbled  out  for  his  diversion  all 
her  young  wisdom,  trying  to  stave  off  the 
final,  "Well,  I  have  letters  to  write,"  that 
SO 


always  hovered  over  their  good  times.  He 
used  to  say  it  with  satisfaction,  even  with 
importance;  lately  it  had  been  growing  re 
luctant,  sighing,  but  it  always  took  him 
away.  To-night  it  came  out,  "Well,  I've  got 
to  write  a  letter!"  so  miserably  that  Pansy 
gave  up  trying  to  divert  him  and  went 
straight  at  the  facts. 

"Then  why  do  you  write  it?"  she  asked. 
"What's  the  matter,  anyway?" 

The  face  lifted  to  his  was  rosy  and  kind, 
full  of  health  and  sense;  all  about  them  the 
mellow  past  offered  a  background  rich  with 
experience.  Mr.  Angus  dropped  down 
again. 

"I  have  been  corresponding  for  three 
years  with  a  very,  very  dear  friend,"  he 
said.  "A  remarkable  woman.  Her  friend 
ship  has  been — a  great  honor  to  me.  She 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

was  here  three  years  ago,  for  two  months. 
I  was — I  grew — " 

"Of  course,"  said  Pansy  dejectedly,  and 
silence  fell  on  the  old  room. 

"She  is  seven  years  older  than  I,"  he 
flung  out. 

Pansy  stared.  "Why,  then  she's — " 

"Thirty- five,"  he  interrupted  irritably. 
"That  is  not  middle  age,  Pansy.  A  woman 
may  be  very  young  at  thirty-five.  She  did 
not  make  any  secret  of  it — she  used  to  laugh 
about  it.  I  was  old  for  my  age — three  years 
ago.  We  seemed — contemporary."  Mr. 
Angus  was  quite  unconscious  that  he 
sighed. 

Pansy  had  cheered  up  immensely.  "I 
know,"  she  said.  "Why,  you  were  old  for 
your  age  when  I  first  came,  Mr.  Angus! 
And  that  was  only  three  months  ago." 

52 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

She  had  struck  the  right  note  to  revive 
him.  He  leaned  toward  her,  watching  her 
intently.  "And  you  have  seen  a  difference?" 
he  asked. 

"You  bet,"  she  assured  him.  "Why,  at 
first  you  were  more  like  an  uncle.  Your 
eyes  sort  of  patted  me,  as  if  I  were  an  aw 
fully  nice  pup."  She  was  quite  serious,  and 
looked  surprised  at  his  burst  of  laughter. 

"And  how  about  my  eyes  now?"  he  sug 
gested,  shining  down  on  her. 

She  took  an  honest  survey  of  them  while 
she  thought  it  out.  "Now  it's  more  like  a 
jolly  older  brother,"  she  decided.  That  was 

4 

not  successful ;  he  looked  touchingly  dashed. 
"An  awfully  jolly  one,"  she  insisted,  and 
then,  seeing  no  improvement,  added  an 
apology:  "Of  course,  I  never  did  have  a 
brother.  I've  only  imagined  them." 

53 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

!A.  convalescent  smile  thanked  her;. but  his 
momentary  cheer  was  gone. 

"Letters  are  queer  things,"  he  said,  drop 
ping  his  head  on  his  two  hands.  "One  leads 
a  separate  life  in  a — an  intimate  correspond 
ence.  It  is  real,  in  its  way.  And  yet,  when 
you  try  to  bring  that  life  and  your  daily  life 
together,  you  see  how — oh,  imaginary  the 
letter-life  has  been." 

Pansy  mended  a  bead  rose  in  silence.  "I 
don't  see  what  you  write  about,"  she  said  at 
last.  "When  I've  said  that  Granny  is  well 
and  that  I'm  having  loads  of  fun,  I've  got 
right  down  to  'Your  loving  Pansy.'  I 
couldn't  fill  more  than  three  and  a  half 
pages  to  save  my  neck." 

"I  wish  to  heaven  I  couldn't!"  he  said  im 
patiently.  "It  is  an  egotistic  indulgence — 
pouring  out  your  thoughts  and  feelings  and 
54 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

reactions  on  life.  I  am  tired  to  death  of  it! 
It  isn't  healthy!  And  it  takes  time!"  His 
voice  rose  indignantly.  "I  want  my  eve 
nings  for  reading  and  exercising  and  visit 
ing  my  neighbors — confound  it,  I  can't 
write  letters  all  the  time  I" 

"Then  why  haven't  you  stopped  it?" 
Pansy  demanded. 

"Ah,  my  dear  girl,  it  isn't  so  simple  as 
that.  One  can't  hurt  people,  or  fail  them. 
If  one  has — created  an  obligation,  a — an — " 

Pansy,  as  usual,  drove  straight  at  the 
point.  "You  don't  mean  you're  engaged  to 
her!" 

The  word  visibly  went  through  him. 
"Not — well,  no;  but  I  have  always  given 
her  to  understand  that — that  if  ever  she  did 
— want  a  more — "  He  got  up  with  a  sud 
denness  that  overturned  his  chair.  "Please 

55 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

forget  all  this,  Pansy.  I  had  no  right  to  say 
so  much.  Only  you  are  such  a — I  think 
such  a  lot  of  you,  I  want  you  to  understand. 
Good-by."  He  put  out  his  hand  with  a 
finality  that  alarmed  her. 

"You're  not  going  away!" 

"Oh,  no.  But  Miss  Olcott  is  coming 
here,"  he  said  simply.  "She  will  be  down 
next  week.  I  have  just  heard.  I  shan't  see 
you — I  mean,  I  shall  be  busy — well,  good 
night,  Pansy!"  He  took  her  hand  again, 
then  hurried  away. 

Pansy  thought  it  over  very  soberly,  her 
arms  crossed  on  Madam  Hancock's  hassock. 
Then  she  shrugged. 

"H'm!  Thirty-five,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  bad  week,  for  Granny  was  almost 
helpless,  and  her  highest  praise  was,  "Well, 
I  guess  it  will  have  to  do!"  Pansy's  blithe- 

56 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

ness  became  a  little  dimmed  before  it  was 
over.  Mr.  Angus  did  not  come  in  even  Sun 
day  night,  but  two  days  later  he  appeared 
in  mid-afternoon,  much  dressed  up  and 
palpably  excited,  escorting  a  tall  and  lovely 
lady. 

Pansy  had  opened  the  door,  and  for  a 
moment  she  stood  inhospitably  blank,  for 
the  solid  earth  seemed  to  be  reeling  under 
her  feet.  What  did  thirty-five  years  matter 
if  one  could  look  so  fine  and  finished,  and 
smile  with  so  charming  a  grace?  For  the 
first  time,  Pansy  was  ashamed  of  the  cos 
tume  that  had  always  been  "such  fun."  She 
felt  a  hot  desire  to  snatch  off  the  childish 
cap  and  print  gown,  the  scarlet  stockings 
and  buckled  shoes,  that  gave  strangers  the 
right  to  look  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  little 
girl!  ' 

57 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Mr.  Angus  was  stammering  something 
that  was  meant  for  an  introduction,  and  the 
lady  came  to  his  aid. 

"I  have  heard  so  much  of  Pansy,"  she 
said,  putting  out  her  hand  with  a  friendli 
ness  that  would  have  won  Pansy's  good 
heart  under  other  circumstances.  "I  don't 
know  you  by  any  other  name." 

Pansy  could  not  find  her  speech.  She 
stood  humiliated  and  helpless,  furious  at 
her  own  bread-and-butter  youth,  beating 
herself  with  cruel  words;  and  could  not 
rdream  that  Miss  Olcott,  looking  down  from 
her  immeasurable  advantage  of  years  and 
experience,  perhaps  saw  some  unsuspected 
value  in  soft  young  curves  and  flushing  shy 
ness.  The  lady's  lips  came  together  in  a 
grave  line,  as  though  for  a  moment  she  had 
caught  her  breath.  Then  she  smiled  again, 


Mr.  Angus   was   stammering   something  that  was  meant   for   an 
introduction 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

this  time  at  Mr.  Angus;  but  he  was  looking 
at  Pansy  and  did  not  see.  Miss  Olcott 
stepped  inside. 

"I  used  to  know  this  old  place  inti 
mately,"  she  said.  "It  is  good  to  see  it  again. 
I  hope  Mrs.  Sparks  is  well?" 

"Yes,  thank  you ;  only  she  is  in  bed  with 
sciatica,"  Pansy  brought  out,  then  hated 
herself  worse  than  ever. 

"I  am  sorry.  I  hope — Ah,  look,  Angus! 
Here  is  the  little  old  Betty  Cavendish  sam 
pler."  She  laughed  as  though  it  had  some 
association  for  them  both,  and  he  responded 
eagerly,  nervously.  His  laugh  came  inces 
santly  as  they  made  the  slow  tour  of  the 
room.  The  place  was  rich  with  reminis 
cence  for  them;  their  repeated,  "Don't  you 
remember — "  beat  and  bruised  Pansy  as 
she  stood  forgotten  by  the  door.  Miss  Ol- 

59 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

cott  kept  using  his  name,  Angus,  with  a 
careless  ease  that  seemed  to  make  a  princess 
of  her;  not  in  the  most  secret  depths  of 
her  heart  had  Pansy  ever  called  him  any 
thing  but  Mr.  Angus.  Once  he  said  her 
name,  Edith,  not  amusedly,  as  he  said 
"Pansy,"  but  with  a  gravity  that  gave  it  a 
sickening  significance.  The  door  into  the 
court  was  open,  and  she  paused  there,  look 
ing  out  with  a  deepening  smile. 

"The  old  Fountain  of  Youth,  Angus!" 

He  tried  to  smile  back,  but  could  not 
quite  meet  her  straight  look.  "Will  you 
drink  again?"  he  asked. 

"You  always  insisted  that  I  didn't  need 
it,"  she  reminded  him. 

"Oh,  I  was  the  one  who  really  needed  it," 
he  said  quickly.  "You  gave  me  my  first 
draft  of  it,  Edith." 

60 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

"And  you  have  gone  on  imbibing,  I  sus 
pect!" 

"Do  I  seem  younger  than  you  remem 
bered  me?" 

She  glanced  him  over  thoughtfully. 
"Younger  than  your  letters.  Do  I  seem 
older  than  mine?"  Then  she  cut  off  his  an 
swer.  "Never  mind — don't  tell  me.  Thirty- 
five  is  a  nice  age,  far  nicer  than  thirty-two 
was.  I  wouldn't  go  back  a  day.  Youth 
hurts  too  much — it  wants  too  much." 

"And  you  think  you  have  escaped  that — 
yet?"  he  challenged  her. 

"I  am  much  farther  from  it  than  you  are, 
my  dear,"  she  said,  leading  the  way  out  into 
the  court.  For  a  long  time  they  leaned  on 
the  well  curb,  talking  in  low  tones,  but 
neither  drank. 

No  tourists  happened  to  come,  and  Pansy 
61 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

had  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  them.  When 
at  last  they  lifted  their  heads,  they  saw  her, 
a  drooping  little  maid  in  an  old-time  cos 
tume,  sitting  on  Madam  Hancock's  hassock 
with  her  head  against  the  dark  wood  of  a 
grandfatherly  clock. 

"I  want  my  tea,"  said  Miss  Olcott  ab 
ruptly.  "The  old  lady  is  tired,  Angus ;  she 
must  have  her  tea.  .  .  .  Do  you  remem 
ber  how  furious  it  used  to  make  you  when 
I  used  that  title?" 

"It  does  still,"  said  Angus  absently,  his 
eyes  on  Pansy.  "It  is  too  absurd." 

She  laughed  a  little,  and  adjusted  the  hat 
that  curved  over  her  bright  hair.  "I  wish 
your  little  friend  could  come  with  us,"  she 
said;  "but  I  suppose  she  can't  leave." 

That  roused  him.  "Ah,  I  should  like  you 
62 


to  know  her,"  he  exclaimed.    "She  is  as 
sound  and  sweet  and  fine  as — ripe  fruit." 

"And  she  looks  like  apple  blossoms," 
Miss  Olcott  added,  and,  pausing  on  the 
threshold,  took  a  long  look  about  the  old 
room.  Then  she  said  good  night  to  Pansy 
with  so  lovely  a  friendliness  that  Pansy  was 
swept  by  an  absurd  longing  to  love  her  and 
burst  into  tears.  But  she  stood  very  straight 
on  her  two  sturdy  feet  and  made  her  grave 
little  answers  with  blue  eyes  bravely  lifted. 
Then  they  were  gone  together,  and  the  day 
dragged  on  to  its  close. 


AFTER  giving  Granny  her  supper,  Pansy 
brought  out  broom  and  duster  and  polish, 
for  the  old  house  had  to  be  kept  in  shining 
order;  but  at  the  first  stroke  of  labor  her 
arms  wilted  down  at  her  sides.  The  heavi 
ness  of  her  heart  seemed  to  spread  through 
her  whole  body.  She  tried  feebly  to  drive 
it,  then,  letting  the  broom  drop,  she  curled 
down  on  the  door-step  in  the  warm  dusk,  her 
face  hidden  in  her  arms.  In  all  her  joyous, 
little-girl  life  she  had  never  known  misery 
like  this.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  concerned 
with  Mr.  Angus,  but  with  the  grace  and 
distinction  of  mature  ladies,  beside  whom 
others  were  stupid  and  helpless  and  young. 

"I  will  grow  up,"  she  vowed  hotly.  "I'll 

64 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

read  more,  and  study  French,  and  wear  cor 
sets — I'll  be  a  fine  lady  if  I  bust  I"  Then 
realization  of  the  years  it  would  all  take 
crushed  her  down  again.  Tears  were  swell 
ing  up  to  her  eyes  when  the  sound  of  a  step 
scattered  them.  Mr.  Angus  was  coming 
down  the  lane  alone. 

He  wore  evening  dress  under  a  light 
overcoat,  and  he  looked  so  fine,  so  remote, 
that  the  sight  of  him  brought  no  comfort 
until  she  saw  the  harassed  face  under  the 
new  hat.  His  distracted  eyes  held  no  mes 
sage  for  her,  but  his  two  hands,  taking  one 
of  hers,  seemed  to  cling  to  it. 

"I  am  just  on  my  way  to  dinner,"  he  said 
jerkily.  "I  ran  down  for  a  minute."  He 
looked  blindly  at  his  watch,  then  sat  down 
on  the  step  beside  her,  tightly  clasping  a 

65 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

knee  in  his  long  fingers.  "You  saw  how 
lovely  she  is,"  he  added,  his  head  turned 
away. 

"Yes,"  said  Pansy  faintly. 

"She  has  done  so  much  for  me,"  he  went 
on.  "Taught  me  things — about  life,  and 
taste — as  well  as  honored  me  with  her 
friendship.  Her  suddenly  coming  down 
here — I  don't  know  what  it  means,  Pansy. 
I  don't  know  what  it  means." 

"What  do  you  want  it  to  mean?"  Pansy 
blurted  out. 

He  drew  a  sharp  breath.  "Once  I  would 
have — Pansy,  it  isn't  a  year  since  I  repeated 
to  her  that  if  ever  she  wanted  me,  she  had 
only  to — lift  her  finger.  And  now — "  The 
world  seemed  to  stand  still,  waiting.  "Oh,  it 
was  literary  love — not  flesh  and  blood  love," 
he  cried.  "And  I  didn't  know  I" 
66 


•o 

rt 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

The  constellations  were  suddenly  back  in 
their  places,  the  world  was  going  ahead  at 
its  normal  jolly  pace.  Pansy  had  barely 
time  for  a  silent,  astonished,  "What  have  I 
been  fussing  about!"  before  the  black  abyss 
of  the  afternoon  was  obliterated  under  a 
leaping  tide  of  sunny  content. 

"Well,  you  will  just  have  to  tell  her  so," 
she  said  with  practical  energy. 

"No;"  he  spoke  slowly  and  solemnly. 
"No.  I  couldn't  do  that,  Pansy.  She  is  too 
— wonderful,  too  fine  in  every  way.  One 
couldn't  fail  her.  I  can't  dream  that  she 
would  really  want  me,  but,  if  she  does,  I  am 
pledged." 

Pansy  seemed  to  swell  all  over  with  right 
eous  protest;  then  on  her  released  breath 
came  a  mighty  verdict:  "Some  people  are 
so  high-minded  that  they  haven't  got  good 

67 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

sense!"  Distraught  though  he  was,  he  was 
caught  by  its  clean-cut  decision,  its  Pansy 
quality  of  robust  honesty.  For  an  instant  the 
old  joy  in  her  leaped  up  in  a  shaken  laugh. 

"Ah,  Pansy,  Pansy!"  he  cried,  and  his 
arms  sprang  open,  as  though  he  would  have 
taken  some  one  in.  Then  he  rose  and  went 
away  without  another  word. 

"I  don't  see  anything  funny  in  that," 
Pansy  observed;  then,  remembering  the 
prostrate  broom,  she  jumped  up  and  went 
vigorously  to  work. 

It  was  very  late  when  she  finished,  but  she 
was  not  sleepy.  Some  quality  of  suspense 
'wa.s  in  the  air;  her  heart  raced,  and  at  every 
chance  sound  she  turned  rigid,  listening. 
She  argued  that  no  one  could  possibly  come, 
yet  she  kept  the  lights  all  on,  that  the  house 
might  look  awake,  and  invented  a  dozen 
68 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

new  tasks  to  prolong  the  evening.  She  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  up  when  a  hesitating 
step  made  her  fling  open  the  door. 

"I  won't  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Angus,  then 
he  absently  did  come  in  and  sit  down.  The 
harassed  look  had  gone,  but  he  was  very, 
very  grave,  and  his  words  came  with  dif 
ficulty. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,  Pansy  ...  ah, 
she  is  so  beautiful !  I  didn't  know  there  were 
— women  like  that.  .  .  .  She  came  here 
simply  on  her  way  to  make  a  visit;  she  is 
staying  only  this  one  night.  She  stopped  off 
to — "  He  forgot  to  go  on,  and  his  eyes,  dark 
and  solemn,  were  fixed  on  the  beauty  he 
had  witnessed.  Pansy,  braced  against  the 
table,  waited  with  a  gathering  frown. 

"Well?"  she  demanded. 

'He  turned  to  her,  but  still  with  no  effect 

69 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

of  looking  at  her.  "I  have  had  something 
better  than  I  deserved,"  he  said.  "I  can  see 
that  The  gods  offered  me  a  rare  opportu 
nity — and  I  was  only  mortal,  and  missed  it 
.  .  .  Edith  is  going  to  undertake  some 
work,  a  serious  responsibility.  She  will  not 
have  time  to  write  often." 

"Welll"  said  Pansy  again. 

"Oh,  I  know.  It  was  what  I  wanted. 
Only  I  can't  help  seeing  what  I  have  lost. 
Ah,  she  was  wonderful — she  understood 
everything;  and  she  wasn't  afraid  of  speech! 
It  is  better  this  way,  but — life  isn't  as  sim 
ple  as  it  looks,  Pansy.  Good  night,  dear 
child." 

He  put  out  his  hands  with  the  aged  smile 
of  a  great  uncle,  and  went  away.  Pansy 
stood  glowering  at  the  closed  door. 

"Nobody's  afraid  of  speech,"  she  mut- 
70 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

tered  "Nothing  so  wonderful  in  that!" 
Then  her  defiance  melted  before  an  awful 
and  desolating  humility.  "I'm  nothing  but 
an  ignorant  kid,"  she  admitted,  going 
wearily  to  her  room. 

An  hour  later,  sitting  up  in  bed  in  the 
darkness,  she  suddenly  spoke  aloud: 

"I  don't  see  why  it  aches  so — you're  not  in 
love  with  Mr.  Angus!  Goodness — he's  too 
old.  Well,  then,  what  are  you  fussing 
about?  You  stop  this  nonsense."  It  worked. 
A  blast  of  fresh  air  seemed  to  pass  through 
the  room,  clearing  away  fever  and  folly, 
and  Pansy,  laying  herself  down  with  her 
hand  under  her  cheek,  promptly  went  off 
to  sleep. 

Granny  was  up  the  next  day,  able  to  tend 
the  door,  and  an  unusual  rush  of  tourists 
kept  Pansy  busy.  She  conducted  group 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

after  group  through  the  house,  and  once 
more  everything  was  "fun."  Three  bridal 
couples  were  vouchsafed  her,  two  of  them 
rustic  and  funny,  one  urban  and  dashing; 
and,  better  yet,  an  engaged  couple,  loitering 
behind  a  kindly  unobservant  parent.  Pansy 
saw  "him"  look  down  and  "her"  look  up, 
and  the  meeting  of  their  eyes  sent  a  delicious 
shock  through  her.  That  was  the  sort  of 
lover  she  would  have  some  day:  young  and 
stalwart  and  worshipful,  just  out  of  college 
with  a  football  record.  Not  a  letter-writing 
person  who  looked  at  you  like  an  uncle — 
you  bet!  At  least  seven  men  in  seven  differ 
ent  groups,  drinking  at  the  Fountain  of 
Youth,  burst  into  infant  howls,  and  Pansy 
beamed  with  the  secret  joke  that  they  al 
ways  did  just  that.  Oh,  seeing  life  was  fun! 
The  last  one  had  gone,  and  Pansy  was  out 
72 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

in  the  court  picking  up  the  paper  drinking 
cups  when  a  quick  step  crossed  the  room. 
It  did  not  sound  like  Mr.  Angus,  and  for  a 
moment  the  figure  in  the  doorway  scarcely 
looked  like  his  stooping  and  poetic  presence. 
His  head  was  flung  back,  his  hands  fairly 
swaggered  in  his  pockets,  and  there  was  not 
a  hint  of  kindly  uncle  in  his  lively,  "Hello, 
Pansy!" 

The  sunset,  glowing  over  the  old  walls, 
made  a  picture  of  the  rosy  maid  in  the  old 
court,  and  usually  he  would  have  stayed 
where  he  was  to  enjoy  it,  but  to-night  he 
came  briskly  out.  "Suppose  we  have  a 
spree,"  he  said.  "Will  you?  What  shall 
it  be?" 

"Movies?"  suggested  Pansy. 

"Hooray I"  Mr.  Angus  sat  down  on  the 
well  curb  and  dipped  the  last  remaining 

73 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

cup  in  the  bucket.  "I  am  not  going  to  offer 
you  any,"  he  said,  lifting  the  cup  as  though 
he  toasted  her.  "You  don't  need  the  Waters 
of  Youth — lucky  child."  The  water  did  not 
look  inviting,  but  he  took  it  down  with  a 
laugh.  Then  his  heels  drummed  the  bricks, 
and  he  whistled  an  air.  "How  quickly  does 
it  work?"  he  asked,  fixing  her  with  a  mis 
chievous  eye. 

"Granny  says  it  doesn't  work  at  all,"  said 
Pansy. 

"Ho — Granny — what  does  she  know! 
Pansy,  do  you  suppose  Granny  was  ever  in 
love  in  all  her  life?" 

"Well,  she  got  married,"  Pansy  argued. 

He  laughed  out.  "True.  Well,  I  will  bet 
she  doesn't  know  one  thing  about  the  subject 
now — any  more  than  you  do  1" 

74 


"Why,  Mr.  Angus,  I've  been  in  love  five  times!" 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

"Me!"  Pansy  was  indignant.  "Why,  Mr. 
Angus,  I've  been  in  love  five  times  I" 

"You  have!"  His  heels,  his  shoulders,  his 
very  jaw  dropped.  "Pansy,  you  don't  mean 
that,"  he  said  gravely. 

"But  I  do,  too.  Why,  it  has  been  twice 
this  very  winter!" 

He  was  unaccountable.  A  joy  as  sudden 
as  his  dismay  sent  up  a  shout  of  laughter. 
He  laughed  open-mouthed  at  the  sky,  so 
splendidly  that  Pansy  began  to  laugh  too,  a 
clear  gurgle  of  joy  that  brought  his  eyes 
back  to  hers.  Over  the  wall  came  the  ripple 
of  a  street  organ,  playing  a  Scotch  reel. 

"Ta  dee,  ta  dee,  ta  dee,  ta  dee — " 

His  hands  took  it  up,  then  his  feet;  he 
sprang  up,  facing  her,  and  Pansy,  who  had 

75 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

once  danced  the  Highland  Fling  in  costume 
at  a  Sunday-school  festival,  dropped  her 
cups  and  fell  joyously  into  position.  Their 
heels  and  hands  snapped,  they  jigged  and 
twirled  through  the  figures,  both  grave  now, 
intent  on  doing  it  right;  and  Granny,  paus 
ing  in  the  doorway,  looked  on  with  a  sar 
donic  gleam  in  her  old  eyes,  but  turned 
away  before  they  had  seen  her. 

"Ta  dum,  ta  dum,  ta  dum,  ta  dum — " 

Their  breath  was  going,  their  gravity 
weakening,  but  still  they  flung  their  hands 
and  heels,  twirling  to  the  final  burst  of 
speed.  The  last  notes  dropped  them,  limp 
and  gasping,  on  the  well  curb. 

"Wasn't  it  fun?"  cried  Pansy. 

He  mopped  his  forehead,  laughed,  then 
dipped  his  cup  again  in  the  bucket.  "I 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 

never  was  so  thirsty  in  my  life,"  he  panted, 
and  would  have  drunk,  but  Pansy  stopped 
him. 

"Mr.  Angus — I  truly  don't  think  you'd 
better  drink  any  more  of  that  water  to 
night,"  she  protested. 

Again  his  laughter  rang  in  the  old  court, 
and,  though  she  did  not  at  all  know  why, 
Pansy  joined  in.  Granny,  hobbling  to  the 
front  door,  beckoned  the  departing  mu 
sician. 

"You're  a  poor  old  thing — you  might  as 
well  have  that,"  she  muttered,  holding  out 
a  coin.  Perhaps  even  Granny  still  knew 
something  about  the  affairs  of  youth. 


IV 

THE  WISHING  RING 


PANSY,  guarding  the  door,  was  accus 
tomed  to  having  strangers  smile  at  her. 
Sometimes  they  commented  as  freely  as 
though  her  quaint  costume  rendered  her 
deaf,  and  once  in  a  while  some  tourist  in 
terpreted  the  print  gown  and  mob  cap  as 
an  invitation  to  familiarity,  driving  her 
back  to  a  clean  middy  and  white  skirt  for 
several  indignant  days.  But  usually  they 
beamed  on  her  very  kindly,  spreading  a 
pleasant  atmosphere  of  approval  and  mak 
ing  it  all  great  fun.  It  was  a  new  experience 
when  a  prosperous  lady,  who  had  descended 
from  her  own  motor,  looked  into  the  door- 

78 


THE  WISHING  RING 

keeper's  face  with  a  startled  widening  of 
her  eyes  and  an  effect  of  sudden  pallor.  For 
an  instant  Pansy  saw  a  question  or  a  cry  at 
the  parted  lips;  then,  to  her  intense  disap 
pointment,  nothing  happened.  The  lady 
paid  her  quarter  and  stepped  in  like  any 
other  visitor. 

Mrs.  Sparks  was  displaying  the  sword  of 
Lafayette,  and  immediately  annexed  her 
with  a  clear,  "If  you  don't  go  around  with 
this  group,  you'll  have  to  wait  for  the  next!" 
that  would  have  brought  a  crowned  head 
into  line.  Granny  had  one  tone  for  all.  The 
lady  seemed  glad  to  be  taken  charge  of  so 
efficiently.  In  spite  of  her  forty  or  more 
years,  she  was  girlish  still,  with  the  pretty 
drooping  melancholy  of  one  who  carries  an 
idealized  sorrow.  The  tilt  of  her  chin,  the 
lift  of  her  brown  eyes,  every  motion  of  her 

79 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

graceful  body,  proclaimed  her  a  much 
loved,  shielded  and  served  person. 

"I'll  bet  that  she  never  in  her  life  went 
into  a  butcher  shop  and  looked  at  a  hunk  of 
raw  meat,"  was  Pansy's  way  of  expressing 
this.  Pansy  watched  her  unwinkingly,  long 
ing  for  some  further  sign  of  agitation,  until 
she  saw  that  the  lady  was  trying  to  observe 
her. 

"Go  ahead,"  she  assented  joyously,  and 
pretended  to  be  busy  with  her  picture  pos 
tals. 

Granny's  voice  droned  on:  "You  ask,  la's 
and  gen'm,  why  we  keep  this  piece  red'n'- 
blue  cloth  in  sep'  glass  case.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  precious  treasures  of  this  'nique  c'lec- 
tion.  If  you  read  the  card,  you  will  see  that 
this  torn  piece  red'n'blue  cloth  was  once 
part  of  the  housings  of  Gen.  Wash's  saddle. 
80 


THE  WISHING  RING 

.  .  .  This  carv'  oak  spice-cupboard, 
brought  o'r  by  William  Perm,  the  founder 
of —  Don't  lean  on  that  glass,  please;  first 
thing  you  know,  you'll  break  it.  ... 
This  ring  will  interest  you.  It  was  found 
in  the  p'ssession  of  the  Seminole  Indians, 
but  is  of  old  Spanish  work'ship,  and  is 
b'liev'  to  have  magic  properties.  Place  it 
on  the  third  fing'  left  hand,  turning  it  three 
times,  and  your  wish  will  be  granted."  She 
paused  while  a  heavy  silver  ring  with  a 
greenish  stone  was  passed  through  the 
group  with  the  usual  giggles  and  witti 
cisms.  When  it  reached  the  lady,  she  too 
slipped  it  on  her  finger,  and  her  eyes  met 
Pansy's  with  an  intensity  that  made  the 
girl's  heart  leap. 

"There  is  something — I'm  not  just  imag 
ining  it,"  was  her  glorious  thought. 

81 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"We  now  pass  by  this  stairs,  where  you 
will  'bserve  the  'riginal  hand-hewn  banis 
ters — "  Mrs.  Sparks  led  the  way  up,  casting 
her  speech  before  her,  indifferent  whether 
it  fell  on  good  ground  or  on  stony,  and  did 
not  notice  that  the  lady  had  dropped  be 
hind,  apparently  absorbed  in  the  beauties  of 
a  Dutch  landscape  done  in  hair.  Presently 
she  and  Pansy  were  left  alone. 

"Oh,  go  on,  go  on,  be  a  sport — what  is 
it?"  was  the  girl's  silent  prayer,  and,  as 
though  in  answer,  the  lady  suddenly  came 
over  to  her. 

"Will  you  think  me  very  odd  if  I  ask 
you  a  question?"  she  faltered.  Her  shy 
fluttered  movements  reminded  Pansy  of  a 
bird  let  out  of  its  cage  for  the  first  time.  In 
her  kind  longing  to  help  and  her  youthful 
82 


joy  in  having  anything  whatever  happen, 
her  "I'd  love  it!"  fairly  boiled  over. 

The  lady  found  breathless  difficulty  in 
beginning.  "If  my  husband  were  only  here, 
he  would  know  how  to — to  ask,"  she  said 
nervously.  "I  am  so  unaccustomed  to  doing 
anything  without  him!  But  he  had  to  go 
back  for  a  week.  He  could  not  help  it.  I 
get  a  night  letter  every  morning  and  roses 
every  afternoon,  but  I  am  rather  lost!" 
The  appeal  under  her  words,  her  troubled 
charm,  made  Pansy  feel  very  stout  and 
sheltering. 

"Just  say  it,"  she  urged.  "Anything.  I'm 
not  sensitive." 

She  had  only  deepened  the  other's  agita 
tion.  "You  are  like  Henry;  strong  and — 
and — I  don't  know  what  he  would  want  me 

83 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

to  say.  But — are  your  mother  and  father 
living?"  It  seemed  an  unmomentous  ques 
tion,  yet  she  wilted  bodily  when  Pansy  said 
that  they  were. 

"And  I've  got  three  younger  sisters," 
Pansy  added,  for  good  measure.  "But  they 
are  all  thin  and  dark,  like  mother.  I  don't 
look  like  any  of  them." 

The  lady  searched  the  rosy  curves  of  her 
face  as  though  they  hid  a  secret.  "You  are 
quite  sure  that  you  are  your  mother's  own 
child — that  you  were  not  adopted?"  she 
burst  out. 

The  amazing  idea  left  Pansy  staring. 
Strangely  enough — for  she  loved  her  par 
ents  dearly — a  rich  hope  that  perhaps  she 
really  had  been  adopted  thrilled  all  her  be 
ing.  When  she  was  little,  she  had  secretly 
longed  to  be  an  orphan — it  was  so  distin- 


'You  are  quite  sure  that— that  you  were  not  adopted :' 


THE  WISHING  RING 

guished!  But  that  glamour  was  pale  beside 
the  brilliant  possibility  flashed  on  her  by 
this  troubled  lady. 

"Why,  I  never — supposed  I  was,"  she 
Stammered. 

"They  sometimes  don't  tell  them.  Oh, 
would  it  be  possible  for  me  to  speak  to  your 
mother?" 

"She's  up  in  Connecticut.  My  grand 
mother's  here."  Pansy  hesitated.  "She'd 
say  it  was  all  nonsense,"  she  reluctantly 
brought  out. 

The  lady  passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes 
as  though  she  were  waking  herself  up.  "Of 
course  it  is — nonsense,"  she  said  sadly.  "My 
husband  would  say  that,  too.  Only  you  are 
so  startlingly  like — a — little  girl — I  used  to 
know — I  had  to  ask  you.  You  are  far  more 
like  her  than — I  have  seen  resemblances  be- 

85 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

fore,  but  never  like  this.  When  Henry  gets 
back,  I  will  bring  him  in.  He — " 

The  knocker  interrupted,  and  Pansy  had 
to  admit  more  tourists.  By  the  time  they 
had  paid  and  registered,  the  lady's  car  was 
speeding  down  the  street.  It  was  like  seeing 
fame  and  fortune  slip  from  one's  grasp. 
Pansy  watched  it  out  of  sight,  then  turned 
to  a  mahogany  mirror  in  Chippendale  style, 
showing  French  influence,  once  in  the  pos 
session  of  Madam  Jumel,  and  searched  for 
the  secret  that  might  lie  under  her  round 
and  guileless  face  until  Granny's  step  on  the 
stairs  made  her  start  back.  In  Pansy's  fam 
ily,  mirrors  were  not  made  for  girls  to  look 
in;  monkeys  lurked  in  their  evil  depths,  and 
would  come  out  to  scratch  the  countenances 
of  the  vain. 

"What  ails  you,  child?"  Mrs.  Sparks 
86 


THE  WISHING  RING 

asked  more  than  once  that  day.  When,  after 
supper,  she  found  Pansy  putting  away  the 
sugar  in  the  ice  chest,  she  lost  all  remnants 
of  patience.  "You  go  sit  on  a  brocade  chair 
and  fold  your  hands;  it's  all  you're  good  for 
to-night,"  she  declared. 

"Maybe  it  is  what  I  was  meant  for,"  was 
the  astonishing  answer.  Pansy  had  settled 
down  on  the  floor,  her  arms  about  her  knees. 
"Granny,  did  you  happen  to  be  about  when 
I  was  born?" 

"No,  child.  I  never  set  eyes  on  you  till 
you  were  six  or  seven."  Granny  always 
softened  at  a  question  that  opened  the  past. 
She  would  have  launched  out  on  the  tale 
of  that  first  visit,  with  its  triple  measles,  had 
Pansy  not  interrupted. 

"Did  mother  write  you  about  it — my 
coming,  and  all  that?" 

87 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"I  suppose  so.  I  don't  remember.  She 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  write,  your 
mother.  I  know  she'd  got  real  discouraged 
about  having  a  child — she'd  been  married 
four  years.  And  then  when  they-<lid  start 
coming — my  land!" 

"Don't  you  think  it's  queer  that  there 
aren't  any  baby  pictures  of  me?"  Pansy 
urged.  "We've  got  them  of  all  the  others." 

"I  guess  there  weren't  any  photographers 
at  West  Clinton.  It  was  a  lonesome  place. 
I  was  glad  when  your  mother  moved  down 
to  Whitestone  Corners.  That  was  where  I 
visited  her." 

"I  wonder  she  didn't  adopt  a  baby  while 
she  was  waiting;"  Pansy's  voice  had  an  odd 
significance,  and  she  fixed  Granny's  face 
with  a  penetrating  gaze,  but  it  gave  no  sign. 

"I  don't  hold  much  with  adopting,"  Mrs. 


'Granny,  did  you  happen  to  be  about  when  I  was  born?' 


THE  WISHING  RING 

Sparks  said.  "There  was  Eliza  Brown,  who 
adopted  that — "  The  tale  flowed  over  un 
heeding  ears.  Pansy  heard  the  knocker, 
however,  and  flew  to  answer  it. 

She  could  not  sing  out  her  usual  greeting 
to  Mr.  Angus;  she  was  too  close  to  magic 
possibilities  for  every-day  words.  So  she 
simply  stood  very  straight  before  him  on 
her  two  sturdy  feet  with  her  lips  pressed 
tightly  together  over  an  escaping  smile,  and 
looked  so  generally  incandescent  that  he 
laughed  down  on  her  for  a  silent  moment 
before  he  spoke. 

"Well,  Pansy!  You  appear  tired  and 
fagged.  I'm  afraid  it  has  been  a  dull  day," 
he  observed,  coming  in. 

Pansy  had  no  time  for  humor.  She  drew 
up  her  stool  facing  his  chair,  as  she  always 
did  when  the  conversation  was  to  be  mo- 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

mentous,  squeezing  her  hands  between  her 
knees,  and  not  noticing  that  he,  for  sheer 
joy  in  her,  took  the  same  attitude. 

"Now,  Mr.  Angus,  listen!  Doesn't  it 
sometimes  happen  that  rich  people  have  a 
child  stolen,  and  it  is  never  found?  The  kid 
nappers  get  afraid  and  do  something  with 
the  child,  and  some  perfectly  good  people 
who  don't  know  the  truth  adopt  her  or 
something?  Aren't  there  cases  like  that?" 

Mr.  Angus  considered.  "I  suppose  it 
could  happen.  But  when  a  child  disappears 
for  good,  I  imagine  that  always  means  it  is 
dead,  don't  you?" 

"Not  always,"  said  Pansy  with  a  sig 
nificant  dip  of  her  blonde  head.  "I  am  sure 
there  are  cases  where  she  is  found  after  she 
is  grown  up." 

"Finding  a  child  twenty  years  later  might 
90 


THE  WISHING  RING 


be  rather  terrible,"  he  suggested.  "Suppose 
she  had  been  brought  up  by  vulgar,  illiter 


ate—  " 


Pansy's  face  had  flamed.  "They  might  be 
poor,  but  that  wouldn't  mean  they  were 
vulgar  and  illiterate,"  she  flung  back. 
"They  might  be  just  exactly  as  nice  as  the 
rich  mother — and  nicer!" 

Mr.  Angus  looked  bewildered.  "I  didn't 
know  you  were  speaking  of  a  real  case,"  he 
apologized. 

"Well,  I  wasn't,  exactly;"  Pansy  cooled 
down  with  a  visible  effort.  "But  suppose  a 
girl,  lost  like  that,  had  grown  up — oh,  a 
pretty  good  sort,  Mr.  Angus!"  Her 
troubled  gaze  pleaded  for  that  possibility, 
and  his  smile  conceded  it.  "Not  wonderful 
in  any  way,  but  she  did  mean  well  and  tried 
hard,  and  had  never  been  silly  about  boys, 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

or  that.  Well,  she  could  learn  to  be  a  rich 
girl  pretty  quickly,  don't  you  believe?  If 
she  didn't  think  she  knew  it  all,  and  really 
wanted  to  be  taught?" 

"A  nice  American  girl  could  learn  any 
thing,"  he  assented. 

"Well,  then,  wouldn't  it  be  gorgeous 
when  her  rich  mother  found  her?  Don't 
you  think  it  would  make  the  nicest  story  in 
the  world?" 

He  looked  as  if  he  had  suddenly  found 
the  clue.  "A  splendid  story,  Pansy.  I  hope 
you  are  writing  it,"  he  said,  his  casual  tone 
designed  not  to  alarm  the  shyness  of  the 
young  author.  "Of  course,  she  would  leave 
her  old  life — dear  me,  suppose  she  had  a 
young  man?  Would  she  leave  him?" 

Pansy's  candid  eyes  considered  that  with- 
92 


THE  WISHING  RING 

out  a  flicker  of  self-consciousness.  "No;  she 
hadn't,  just  then,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Angus  retreated  in  depressed  haste 
from  that  aspect  of  the  problem.  "How 
would  you  explain  their  not  finding  the 
child,  after  the  kidnappers  had  abandoned 
it?  Rich  people  could  search  the  country 
rather  thoroughly." 

Pansy  had  that  all  arranged.  "They 
didn't  know  she  was  stolen;  they  supposed 
she  had  strayed  away  and  been  drowned  or 
something.  They  thought  the  mother  was 
silly  because  she  would  go  on  looking,  year 
after  year.  And  then  one  day,  all  pretty  and 
sad  in  her  rich  clothes,  she  opened  a  door, 
and  there,  face  to  face  with  her,  was — " 

"Pan-sy !"  called  a  voice  from  the  kitchen. 

"Oh,  Granny,  what  is  it?"  Pansy  spoke 

93 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

with  unwonted  impatience,  for  her  exalted 
spirit  had  been  tumbled  to  earth  rather  too 
abruptly.  Granny  appeared  in  the  doorway 
with  a  bottle  and  rags. 

"All  that  furniture  has  got  to  be  wiped 
off  to-night,  but  of  course  if  you  are  too 
busy — "  she  said  severely. 

Mr.  Angus  insisted  that  he  help,  and  they 
had  a  beautiful  time  over  the  work.  There 
was  perhaps  a  touch  of  pedagogue  in  the 
young  man,  and  Pansy  was  whole-heartedly 
a  learner.  One  could  not  tell  her  anything 
that  failed  to  rouse  her  vivid  interest.  Their 
talk  ranged  all  over  the  world,  Pansy  ap 
pealing  to  him  for  knowledge  with  an  in 
toxicating  faith,  but  occasionally  bringing 
him  down  by  a  word  of  candid  common- 
sense  that  made  him  laugh  aloud.  She  pres 
ently  forgot  her  exciting  secret,  but  when  he 

94 


THE  WISHING  RING 

took  her  grimy  hand  for  good  night,  it  came 
rushing  back  almost  like  bad  news. 

"You  would  always  be  my  best  friend," 
she  told  him  wistfully,  looking  up  into  his 
face  as  though  to  imprint  it  on  her  memory. 

"And  you  will  always  be  my  dearest 
friend,"  was  the  grave  answer.  He  was 
holding  her  hand  very  tightly.  "You  do 
like  me,  Pansy?" 

"Oh,  I  love  you,  Mr.  Angus,"  she  said 
earnestly,  and  might  have  seen  that  she  had 
nearly  broken  his  heart  if  he  had  not  turned 
away  so  abruptly. 


GRANNY  had  gone  to  bed,  but  Pansy  sat 
up  for  a  long  time  composing  a  letter  to 
her  mother.  She  tore  up  many  indirect  ap 
proaches,  and  finally  mailed  a  bald  ques 
tion: 

"Dear  Mother: 

"This  is  private.  Am  I  really  your  child? 
You  didn't  adopt  me  when  I  was  little,  did 
you?  Don't  think  I'm  crazy. 

"Your  loving 

"PANSY/' 

She  mailed  this  and  went  to  bed,  but 
hours  later  she  came  stealing  back,  a  night- 
gowned  figure  slipping  like  a  ghost  among 
the  old  highboys  and  secretaries,  and  felt 
her  way  to  a  case  of  battered  jewelry.  In 
the  center  she  found  a  heavy  carved  ring 


THE  WISHING  RING 

with  a  large  stone.  She  placed  it  on  the 
third  finger  of  her  left  hand,  turning  it 
three  times. 

"I  wish  that  I  may  prove  to  be  the  lost 
child  of  a  rich  and  beautiful  lady,  who  will 
give  me  everything  in  the  world  and  find 
me  the  joy  of  her  life,"  she  breathed,  then 
replaced  the  ring.  "There!  The  lady 
wished  on  it  and  I've  wished  on  it,  and  if 
there  is  any  good  in  the  old  thing,  we'll 
find  it  out,"  she  declared,  tiptoeing  back  to 
bed. 

For  several  days  Pansy  went  about  like 
a  somnambulist,  dreaming  her  dream.  She 
asked  her  grandmother  an  amazing  variety 
of  questions. 

"What  do  rich  girls  do  in  the  morning, 
when  they  get  up?"  was  one  of  them,  asked 
across  Dolly  Madison's  four-poster,  on 

97 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

which  they  were  hanging  clean  dimity 
curtains.  Mr.  Angus  would  have  at  least 
tried  to  tell  her,  but  Granny  would  only 
mutter  some  general  reflection  on  ruining 
young  people  with  wealth.  "Do  you  sup 
pose  I  could  learn  to  run  an  automobile?" 
Pansy  persisted. 

"I  think  you'd  be  better  at  the  wringer," 
was  the  discouraging  answer.  "What  do 
you  want  of  money,  child?  You'll  not  find 
happiness  in  wealth." 

Pansy  had  heard  that  all  her  life,  and  had 
given  it  earnest  thought.  "Money  doesn't 
make  you  happy  if  you  can't  be  happy  with 
out  it,"  she  explained.  "But  if  you  can  be 
just  boiling  happy  without  it — oh,  gee, 
Granny,  how  it  does  add!" 

The  old  woman  shot  an  appraising  glance 
over  her  spectacles  at  the  fresh  young  face. 

98 


THE  WISHING  RING 

"You're  no  fool,  Pansy — yet,"  she  reluc 
tantly  conceded. 

The  lady  had  said  she  would  come  back, 
and  every  time  a  motor  stopped  at  the  door 
Pansy's  heart  nearly  leaped  from  its  moor 
ings.  She  did  come,  finally,  alone,  in  the 
middle  of  the  morning,  and  beckoned  the 
doorkeeper  out  to  the  car. 

"Will  you  come  and  spend  the  Hay  with 
me?"  she  asked  with  shy  intensity,  her  ap 
pealing  eyes  following  every  line  of  the 
girl's  lifted  face.  "My  husband  is  not  back 
yet,  but  I  did  want  to  see  you  again !" 

"I'd  love  to!"  Pansy  breathed,  and,  look 
ing  up  at  the  gentle  fine-lady  presence,  she 
almost  said,  "My  mother  I"  "I  will  ask  my 
grandmother,"  she  added  hastily,  for  the 
rush  of  emotion  had  been  followed  by  some 
thing  very  like  shame. 

99 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"Will  you  tell  her  that  it  is  Mrs.  Henry 
Desmond,  of  Detroit?"  The  lady  said  it 
apologetically,  as  though  claiming  the  name 
might  be  considered  a  boast,  and  Pansy 
tried  to  pass  on  its  obvious  importance  as 
she  flew  for  permission  and  to  change  her 
dress.  Granny  took  one  glance  from  the 
window. 

"Oh,  she'll  bring  you  back,"  she  said, 
turning  away. 

Pansy  had  a  thrilled  thought:  "Perhaps 
she  won't!"  and  then,  again,  that  cold  touch 
of  shame.  "But  I'd  love  mother  and  father 
exactly  the  same,  and  go  to  see  them  every 
year,  and  do  lovely  things  for  them,"  she 
argued  as  she  ran  out. 

The  lady  put  her  hand  over  Pansy's.   "If 
you  knew  how  I  long  for  a  'dear  young  girl 
in  my  house!"  she  said. 
100 


THE  WISHING  RING 

In  the  late  afternoon  the  motor  brought 
Pansy  back,  alone.  The  tourists  had  gone, 
and  Granny,  who  had  done  double  work  all 
day,  sat  for  once  with  idle  hands,  looking 
tired  and  rather  sad.  The  air  was  chilly,  and 
an  economical  little  fire  flickered  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  wide  stone  hearth.  She  glanced 
up  at  her  grandchild  with  a  wintry  smile. 

"Well,  Pansy,  I  don't  suppose  I'll  be 
keeping  you  long  in  a  dull  old  place  like 
this ;"  she  spoke  with  surprising  gentleness. 
"It's  natural,  dear  child — it's  natural." 

Pansy  was  too  absorbed  in  sobering 
thought  to  interpret  the  words.  She  drew 
her  stool  to  the  hearth  and  settled  down 
there,  still  in  hat  and  coat,  her  chin  on  her 
palms.  For  a  long  time  neither  spoke;  then 
she  looked  up  with  a  puzzled  sigh. 

"Queer,  Granny!"  she  began  solemnly. 
101 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"I've  dreamed  and  dreamed  of  what  fun  it 
would  be  to  be  rich  and  grand;  and  Mrs. 
Desmond  has  dreamed  and  dreamed  of  hav 
ing  a  dau —  a  young  girl  in  the  house;  and 
yet  by  six  o'clock  I'll  bet  she  was  as  tired  of 
it  as  I  was!" 

Mrs.  Sparks  had  straightened  in  her 
chair.  The  touch  of  aged  indulgence  was 
gone.  "Well,  I  hope  you  behaved  yourself, 
Pansy." 

"Behaved?"  Pansy  flung  hat  and  coat 
from  her  with  a  released  sweep  of  her  arms. 
"I  haven't  done  anything  else!  Granny,  I 
don't  see  how  rich  people  stand  it.  First  we 
took  a  drive — well,  that  was  all  right;  and 
she  told  be  about  her  little  girl,  who  had 
died  when  she  was  away,  ill,  and  her  hus 
band  with  her.  She  never  could  quite  be 
lieve  it,  but,  of  course,  it  was  true— and 
102 


THE  WISHING  RING 

she'd  only  have  been  sixteen  now,  anyway." 
Pansy  sounded  indignant.  "Don'tyou  think 
it's  silly  to  pretend  things  aren't  true  just 
because  you  can't  bear  them?" 

Mrs.  Sparks  never  missed  a  chance  to 
snub.  "You  wait  till  you've  had  a  sorrow 
yourself  before  you  lay  down  the  law,"  she 
advised. 

"My  goodness,  Granny,  I  can't  feel  any 
thing  worse  than  I  did  when  my  Gyppy 
was  run  over;  but  I  don't  go  around  faint 
ing  every  time  I  see  a  little  white  dog  with 
one  black  eye.  Well,  anyway,  we  got  to  the 
house  at  half  past  twelve,  and  Mr.  Des 
mond  likes  her  to  lie  down  for  an  hour  be 
fore  lunch,  so  there  I  sat  alone — with  a  book 
— for  a  mortal  hour,  starving  to  death,  and 
not  one  blessed  thing  to  do!  She's  taken  a 
big  house  for  four  weeks,  just  because  she 

103 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

doesn't  like  hotels,  and  every  room  was  in 
perfect  order — just  as  if  it  had  died  and 
been  laid  out.  No  tools  or  implements  or 
piece  bags  or  anything — I  didn't  even  see  a 
pair  of  scissors.  Don't  rich  people  ever 
pound  nails  or  make  over  clothes  or  invent 
a  shoe  box,  or  do  something  exciting  with 
a  piece  of  wire  and  a  board  and  a  couple  of 
hooks?  Do  they  just  sit  on  chairs?" 

"I  guess  they  have  considerable  com 
pany,"  Granny  offered. 

"She  doesn't.  Henry  thinks  it  excites  and 
tires  her.  That's  why  she  wants  to  adopt 
a  dear  young  girl — or  she  did  till  this 
morning!"  Pansy  was  fairly  belligerent. 
"Granny,  we  had  a  good  lunch,  and  I  liked 
that  a  lot;  and  then  we  sat  for  three  hours. 
She  had  some  crocheting,  but  she  didn't  do 
much — he  thinks  it's  bad  for  her  eyes. 
104 


THE  WISHING  RING 

Finally,  when  I  was  pretty  nearly  crazy — 
I  had  tried  every  chair  in  the  room  and 
was  beginning  on  the  floor — she  said  maybe 
I'd  like  a  little  walk.  I  jumped  at  it,  so  she 
went  and  had  her  maid  change  all  her 
clothes,  and  that  was  half  an  hour  more. 
We  walked  about  seven  blocks,  then  she 
decided  that  it  had  turned  cold  and  she 
needed  her  boa,  so  we  went  back,  and  then 
it  was  too  late  to  set  out  again,  so,  praise 
God,  I  came  home.  And  I  suppose  she  is 
sitting  some  more.  Oh,  think  if  one  had 
been  born  into  a  life  like  that!" 

Mrs.  Sparks  faced  the  idea  with  unex 
pected  tolerance.  "I  reckon  you'd  find  ways 
to  keep  active.  I  shouldn't  mind  sitting  a 
bit  more,  myself." 

"Well,  you  shall,  some  day."  Pansy  laid 
her  cheek  on  the  old  hands.  "When  I'm 
105 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

married,  you  shall  live  with  us  and  sit  all 
you  please."  Then  a  frown  gathered.  The 
real  trouble  was  coming  to  the  surface. 
"Do  you  know,  she's  down  on  Mr.  Angus? 
Can  you  imagine  that?" 

Granny  reserved  judgment.  "What  for?" 
"His  prices.  She  says  he  charges  as  much 
for  his  reproductions  as  if  they  were  real 
antiques.  My  goodness,  of  course  he  has  to 
— doesn't  she  know  anything  about  the  price 
of  labor  now?  I  tried  to  tell  her,  but  she 
kept  going  back  to  an  old  carved  chest 
handed  down  from  Mathusalum  or  some 
body  that  she  got  for  almost  nothing  from  a 
second-hand  junk  man  in  a  back  alley — she 
couldn't  see  that  Mr.  Angus  pays  rent  and 
high  wages.  She  says  he  was  not  sympa 
thetic,  and  she's  not  going  back  to  him 
again:  'Henry  wouldn't  want  her  to.' 
1 06 


THE  WISHING  RING 

Henry  never  lets  her  trade  with  people  who 
aren't  obliging.  Mustn't  he  be  a — nut?" 
She  jumped  up.  "I'll  change  my  gown,  and 
then  I'll  get  busy,"  she  said.  "If  you  want 
the  cellar  whitewashed,  now's  your  chance." 

"There's  a  letter  from  your  mother," 
Granny  called  after  her.  "On  your  bureau." 

Pansy  went  up  to  the  familiar  envelope 
with  a  shamed  reluctance.  What  an  idiot 
she  had  been,  to  write  that  question!  Her 
mother's  words  were  always  gentle — per 
haps  because  her  mother's  had  been  so  sharp 
— but  she  could  be  counted  on  to  point  out 
a  folly  without  trying  to  call  it  anything 
else.  Pansy  changed  to  her  working  clothes, 
putting  off  the  reading  until  a  new  thought 
struck  her  drooping  spirit  prostrate.  Per 
haps  her  light-hearted  question -had  hurt  her 
mother.  Perhaps,  when  a  woman  has  borne 

107 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

a  child,  nursed  it,  helped  it  to  grow  up  with 
unfailing  tenderness  and  love — perhaps  a 
child's  willingness  to  forego  that  mother 
hood  would  fall  like  a  sharp  sword.  Per 
haps  all  these  days  she  had  been  carrying  a 
great  ache. 

"Some  people  are  skunks,"  said  Pansy 
with  pale  lips,  and  broke  open  the  letter. 

"My  own  dear  little  girl,  how  did  you 
get  such  a  crazy  idea?  I  hope  it  has  not 
been  making  you  unhappy.  You  have  such 
good  sense,  and  yet  such  wild  notions — you 
remind  me  of  old  Dolly  and  the  colt  when 
we  harness  them  together.  I  keep  thinking 
of  the  day  you  were  born.  I  had  wanted  you 
so  long,  I  couldn't  believe  you  really  were 
coming,  and  then  I  was  so  sick,  it  seemed 
as  if  I  must  lose  you.  And  then  at  last  there 
1 08 


THE  WISHING  RING 

you  were — I  suppose  you  were  squalling, 
Pansy,  but  it  sounded  sweeter  than  any 
music  I  ever  heard.  'A  splendid  little  girl,' 
the  doctor  called  you.  I  was  so  proud  and 
so  happy.  You  looked  just  like  a  flower — a 
real  sturdy,  sensible  little  flower.  We  were 
going  to  name  you  Abby  Electra,  after  the 
two  grandmothers,  and  then  we  just 
couldn't.  I  guess  calling  you  Pansy  was 
the  only  foolish  thing  your  father  and  I 
ever  did,  knowingly — but  we  never  were 
sorry.  One  could  love  an  adopted  child,  of 
course,  but  that  first  day,  when  they  laid 
you  beside  me,  and  I  stared  and  stared  at  my 
own  little  girl — " 

iPansy's  face  was  plunged  into  the  letter. 
"Oh,  I  want  her,"  she  sobbed.  "I'm  home 
sick.  I  want  to  see  my  mother!" 

109 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

It  was  a  very  subdued  Pansy  who  pres 
ently  went  at  the  day's  tasks.  When  Mr. 
Angus  came  in,  long  after  supper,  he  found 
her  still  at  it,  polishing  the  glass  lids  of  the 
show-cases. 

"Hard  at  work,"  he  said,  standing  over 
her.  His  voice  had  a  kindness  that  healed 
and  comforted.  For  the  moment  he  felt  al 
most  like  a  mother.  "I  saw  you  going  off  in 
a  grand  motor  to-day.  How  do  you  like 
being  Cinderella  again?" 

"Oh,  I've  exploded  Cinderella;"  Pansy 
spoke  grimly.  "Working  in  the  ashes  was  a 
cinch  compared  to  being  a  princess  on  a 
gold  chair.  You  needn't  tell  me!" 

It  was  evidently  no  laughing  matter,  and 
he  kept  a  grave  face. 

"Still,  I  suppose  that  every  pretty  girl 
wishes  for  pretty  things,"  he  hazarded, 
no 


THE  WISHING  RING 

"Oh,  yes.  She  wishes.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Angus,  if  that  old  wishing  ring  had  been  in 
good  working  order  a  few  day  ago,  there'd 
have  been  two  lives  pretty  nearly  wrecked 
by  wishes!" 

He  could  not  help  smiling.  "You  are 
such  a  gallant  little  Pansy!  I  love  your 
courage  for  life.  And  yet — one  would  like 
to  make  it  easier  for  you." 

"Well,  offer  me  an  automobile  and  some 
fine  clothes,  and  I'll  throw  over  my  mother 
and  my  father  and — oh,  I  hate  a  girl!" 
Pansy  nearly  rubbed  through  the  glass.  "I 
have  always  said  I'd  have  three  boys  and 
three  girls,  but  I  think  now  I'll  stop  at  the 
boys." 

It  took  Mr.  Angus  a  moment  to  get  back 
breath  for  a  casual  tone.  "Oh,  I  hope  there 
would  be  at  least  one  little  Pansy,"  he  said, 

in 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

affecting  to  examine  a  snuff  box  with  a  pic 
ture  of  William  Tell  on  the  lid.  "We 
couldn't  spare  her." 

If  he  had  looked,  he  would  have  seen 
Pansy's  hands  droop  and  her  blue  eye  fix  as 
though  she  listened  to  something  very  faint 
and  far  off.  A  warm  pleasantness  lay  about 
them  like  a  pool  of  sunshine.  Out  of  the 
open  cases  came  the  fragrance  of  other 
lives,  richly  lived;  the  old  room  seemed  to 
be  breathing  like  a  rose  jar.  It  was  so  sweet! 
The  grave  curve  of  Pansy's  mouth  deepened 
and  her  eyes  slowly  fell.  Then  she  started 
forward,  shattering  the  enchantment.  Her 
head  was  ducked  excitedly  over  a  case. 
"Granny!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Granny!" 
Mrs.  Sparks  put  in  a  skeptical  face  from 
another  room.  "Well,  what  now?"  she  de 
manded. 

112 


Mrs.  Sparks  put  in  a  skeptical  face  from  another  room 


THE  WISHING  RING 

"Granny!  You've  mixed  these  rings!" 
Pansy  was  shouting.  "Look — this  isn't  the 
wishing  ring  at  all — here  it  is,  in  the  corner, 
with  the  blue  stone — don't  you  know?  This 
one — why,  Granny,  it's  the  medicine  ring — 
it's  the  ring  that  cures  you  of  whatever's  the 
matter  with  you  I"  Her  eyes  had  widened  to 
a  look  of  awe. 

"I  guess  one's  as  good  as  the  other,"  Mrs. 
Sparks  grumbled,  turning  away. 

Pansy  released  a  long  breath  as  she  re 
stored  the  wishing  ring  to  its  place.  "Well, 
you  certainly  are  looked  after  in  this 
world!"  she  admitted. 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 


THE  door  of  the  Oldest  House  in  Amer 
ica  stood  open,  letting  in  a  long  bar  of  sun 
light.  The  ancient  room  still  kept  its  mel 
low  dusk,  as  though  it  had  lost  the  power 
to  absorb  sunshine;  only  where  the  bar 
touched  a  brass  warming-pan  or  a  case  of 
old  swords  on  the  wall  was  there  light. 
From  up-stairs  came  the  custodian's  dron 
ing  tale : 

"The  fireplace,  la's  V  gen'm,  has  been 

restored,  but  the  andirons  'p'esenting  two 

continental   soldiers  with   drawn  weapons 

were  once  in  the  p'session  of  our  grea'  states- 

114 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

man,  Dan'l  Webster.  The  ban'  pain'  fire 
screen  that  you  see — " 

The  feet  trooped  on  after  the  voice.  The 
rosy  Elizabethan  maid  who  guarded  the 
open  door  below  yawned  and  let  her  head 
droop  against  the  carved  back  of  her  chair. 
The  sunlight  threw  her  print  gown  and 
white  cap  into  shining  relief  against  the 
dark  background ;  it  glowed  across  a  deeply 
curving  cheek,  astonishingly  pink,  and 
touched  a  throat  as  soft  as  a  baby's.  Pansy's 
eighteen  years  did  not  look  much  more  than 
a  ripe  dozen  as  she  drifted  toward  a  doze  in 
her  quaint  costume. 

"By  jove,  is  the  little  maid  real?"  The 
voice,  laughing,  strongly  English,  brought 
her  up  with  a  jerk,  opening  the  sudden  blue 
of  her  eyes.  The  man  on  the  door-step  was 
for  the  moment  only  a  black  shape  against 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

the  sunlight.  "I  beg  your  pardon!"  The 
voice  recognized  a  mistake  about  her  age, 
but  not  a  very  serious  one.  It  still  laughed. 
"I  thought  perhaps  it  was  I  who  was  having 
the  nap.  A  shilling,  is  it — what  you  call  a 
quarter?"  He  brought  the  money  out  of  his 
pocket  with  a  clever  left  hand,  and  then 
Pansy  saw  that  his  right  sleeve  was  folded 
up,  and  empty  to  the  top.  He  had  taken  off 
his  soft  hat,  crushing  it  into  a  pocket. 
"What  a  jolly  old  place!  And  are  you  the 
custodian?" 

"She's  up-stairs  with  a  group.  If  you  go 
on  up,  she  will  tell  you  the  first  part  after 
ward."  The  words  were  automatic,  for  the 
heroic  meaning  of  that  British  voice  and 
empty  sleeve  had  clutched  Pansy's  soft 
heart,  till  it  was  nearly  suffocating  her  with 
a  new  and  fragrant  pain.  They  brought  the 
116 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

great  war  to  the  very  threshold.  The  visitor 
stood  well  over  six  feet,  straight  and  sound, 
apparently  unconscious  of  his  loss. 

"A  group?"  There  was  an  apprehensive 
twinkle.  "Tourists?" 

"Twenty  of  them,"  said  Pansy,  smiling 
back  with  her  whole  soul.  It  was  so  beauti 
ful  of  him  to  be  merry  when  he  had  fought 
and  bled  for  his  country!  "It's  a  party. 
They  came  in  that  bus." 

"Oh,  I  say — I  don't  have  to  go  up,  do  I? 
Though  of  course  I'm  as  much  a  tourist  as 
they  are,"  he  added  with  a  laugh. 

"You  wouldn't  say  that  if  you'd  seen 
them,"  Pansy  said,  so  earnestly  that  he 
laughed  again. 

"And  do  you  sit  here  and  collect  their 
shillings  all  day  long?"  He  was  ready  to 
find  that  a  hardship  and  a  shame — he! 

117 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"Oh,  but  it's  fun,"  she  explained.  "It's 
seeing  life.  Why,  I've  had  eighty-three 
bridal  couples  already!" 

He  evidently  liked  her  very  much  indeed. 
"That  is  a  record,"  he  said.  "And  so  this  is 
seeing  life?" 

"Well,  it's  seeing  a  lot  more  than  I  ever 
did  up  home!  And  we  have  had  senators 
and  aviators  and  Grace  Gordon — the  Sunny 
Books,  you  know — and  famous  people  of 
every  kind.  They  register  here,  so  we  find 
them  out."  She  did  not  offer  him  the  pen, 
thinking  it  might  prove  difficult  for  him, 
but  the  brave  left  hand  took  it  up  and  wrote 
a  "Basil  Lindsay,  London,"  that  was  far 
more  legible  than  the  "Lulu  Schmieder, 
Peoria,"  just  above  it. 

The  case  of  swords,  flashing  in  the  sun 
light,  caught  his  eye,  and  he  crossed  to  them, 
118 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

instantly  absorbed.  His  left  hand  followed 
the  blades  or  closed  on  the  hilts  as  he  studied 
their  inscriptions,  but  there  was  no  droop 
ing  of  his  fine  young  head  and  squared 
shoulders,  nothing  wistful  about  his  firm 
mouth.  His  perfect  unselfconsciousness 
only  increased  the  ache  in  Pansy's  breast. 
The  battle  smoke  hung  palpably  about  him. 
She  saw  the  gallant  charge,  the  fall,  the 
limp  body  carried  from  the  field,  an  arm 
dragging.  A  hot  envy  of  his  nurses  swept 
her;  they  could  serve  him  day  and  night. 
Splendid  utterances — "For  King  and  Coun 
try!" — "We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham!" 
—"Lord  God  of  Battles!" — welled  up  in 
her  heart.  Oh,  soldier  hero — oh,  jimminyf 
"That's  a  queer  thing,  now!"  The  hero 
held  up  a  dark  old  blade  with  rude  and  un 
adorned  hilt. 

119 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Pansy  made  mechanical  response:  "This 
dull  black  weapon,  of  no  grace  or  beauty, 
carried  by  a  continental  soldier  of  General 
Israel  Putnam's  command,  was  forged  from 
the  blade  of  a  scythe.  No  doubt  it  was 
swinging  in  the  farmer's  hand  the  day  be 
fore  the  call  to  arms  sounded.  From  mow 
ing  the  peaceful  fields,  it  became  a  weapon 
for  mowing  down  men." 

He  had  listened  respectfully.  "That  is 
very  interesting.  My  grandfather  has  rather 
a  jolly  collection  of  old  weapons ;  pikes  and 
blunderbusses  and  that.  He  would  give  a 
good  bit  for  this  sword,  but  I  expect  it  isn't 
for  sale?" 

Pansy  hated  to  refuse  him.  She  would 
have  given  him  the  sword  on  the  spot  if  she 
had  had  the  power.  "Perhaps  another  one 
1 20 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

could  be  found,"  she  suggested.  "I'll  make 
inquiries  if  you  like." 

"That  would  be  most  good  of  you.  I  shall 
be  stopping  here  for  several  days."  And  he 
reluctantly  put  back  the  sword  as  the  group 
followed  the  custodian  down  the  stairs. 

Granny  seemed  to  suspect  that  mischief 
had  happened  in  her  absence,  for  she  swept 
an  alert  glance  into  every  corner  of  the 
room,  then  fixed  the  one  visitor  with  a  dis 
ciplinary  eye. 

"You'll  have  to  wait  for  the  next  group," 
she  told  him  inexorably.  "I  can't  go 
through  it  for  one  person." 

"Oh,  that  is  quite  all  right;  don't  trouble 
about  me!"  The  voice  proclaimed  his  na 
tionality,  and  the  tourists,  seeing  the  empty 
sleeve,  showed  a  sprinkling  of  the  sentiment 

121 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

that  had  engulfed  Pansy.  Ladies  lingered 
near  him,  so  palpably  longing  to  offer  some 
sympathetic  word  that  even  his  unconscious 
ness  was  penetrated.  He  tried  to  move  out 
of  range,  but  their  kindness  dogged  his 
steps,  and  when  a  pretty,  faded  young 
woman  had  tacked  across  his  bows  seven 
times,  he  broke  away. 

"I  will  be  back  to-morrow,"  he  said  to 
Pansy  in  passing.  His  eyes  were  annoyed 
and  his  face  a  little  red  as  he  strode  off.  The 
others  slowly  gathered  for  the  waiting  bus. 

"He  must  have  looked  perfectly  grand  in 
his  uniform,"  a  wistful  girl  said,  lingering 
on  the  door-step.  She  seemed  to  have  ex 
pressed  the  feeling  of  the  group;  a  collect 
ive  sigh  followed  him. 

The  moment  the  day  was  over,  Pansy, 
still  counterfeiting  the  rosy  maid  of  an 
122 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

Elizabethan  drama,  ran  down  the  ancient, 
crooked  lane  to  its  joining  with  the  modern 
street.  At  the  corner  stood  the  delightful 
plastered  and  gabled  shop  of  Angus  Mac- 
Donald,  Antiques  and  Reproductions.  At 
the  sound  of  Pansy's  entrance,  he  came  hur 
rying  from  the  workroom  above,  pulling  on 
his  coat;  then,  seeing  who  it  was,  he  paused 
on  the  stairs  to  enjoy  the  picture  of  her, 
standing  with  lifted  face  in  the  midst  of  his 
rich  woods  and  old  brocades. 

"Good  morrow,  sweet  mistress,"  he  wel 
comed  her.  "How  can  I  serve  you?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Angus!"  Pansy's  words  could 
not  get  out  fast  enough  for  the  speed  of  her 
desire.  "Do  you  know  anywhere  you  can 
get  another  continental  sword?" 

He  came  down,  all  ready  to  be  helpful. 
"Continental  sword?" 
123 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"You  know!  This  dull  black  weapon, 
carried  by  a  continental  soldier  of  General 
Israel  Putnam's  command,  was  forged  from 
the  blade  of  a  scythe.  Ugly  old  black  thing. 
Oh,  couldn't  you  find  another?" 

He  thought  in  various  directions,  north 
and  west,  biting  a  dubious  upper  lip.  "Any 
thing  happened  to  yours?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no ;  only  some  one  wants  to  take  one 
home  for  his  grandfather's  collection.  And 
he'd  give  a  good  bit  for  it,  Mr.  Angus." 

He  was  deeply  pleased.  "And  so  you 
came  running  to  do  your  neighbor  a  good 
turn?" 

"Oh,  he's  not  a  neighbor,"  Pansy  ex 
plained;  "unless  you're  thinking  of  the 
Bible.  He's  just  here  for  a  week.  I  want 
to  find  it  for  him  awfully.  Oh,  couldn't 
you?  Won't  you  help?" 
124 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

The  glow  had  died  out  of  Mr.  Angus' 
geniality.  "Who  is  the  man?"  he  asked. 

"A  young  British  officer — I  think  he  was 
a  captain,  by  the  way  he  stood.  He  had 
lost  an  arm — his  right  arm! — but  he  could 
knock  most  men  down  with  his  left,  he's  so 
strong  and  brave  and  soldierly.  He  doesn't 
go  about  thinking  he's  tragic,  either — he 
just  acts  as  if  nobody  had  a  right  arm.  And 
he  is  so  frightfully  clever  with  his  left  hand, 
it  makes  you  ache.  Oh,  if  you'd  seen  him 
drop  his  handkerchief  on  his  knee  to  open 
it — I  wanted  to  cry  out  loud!  Don't  you 
think  to  give  yourself  for  your  country  is 
the  grandest  thing  a  man  can  do?" 

Mr.  Angus,  who  was  not  at  all  a  soldierly 
type,  but  poetic  and  somewhat  stooping,  had 
grown  aloof  and  rather  superior  under  the 
rush  of  Pansy's  enthusiasm. 
125 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"Brass  buttons  do  not  excite  me  inordi 
nately,"  he  said.  "Shooting  one's  fellow 
men  and  eventually  getting  shot  seems  to 
me  a  poor  sort  of  glory." 

"But  wouldn't  you  defend  your  country?" 
she  flared  up. 

He  was  exasperatingly  cool.  "I  would 
run  my  country  so  justly  and  generously 
that  it  did  not  need  that  sort  of  defense." 

"Oh,  stuff  I  You  mean  to  say  you  wouldn't 
fight,  no  matter  what  happened?" 

"I  hope  not." 

Words  failed  her.  After  a  swelling  mo 
ment  she  turned  on  her  heel  with  an  ex 
plosive,  "Oh — goodness!"  and  left  the  shop. 
Mr.  Angus  continued  to  look  superior  as  he 
went  back  to  the  workroom. 

"And  to  think  that  I  almost  thought  that 
I  had  a  crush  on  him!"  Pansy  spoke  vio- 
126 


"I  shall  have  something  more  to  say  to  you.     I  will  write  it,"  she 
said  mysteriously 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

lently  to  the  empty  street.  The  pedestal 
whence  Mr.  Angus  had  smiled  down  on  her 
was  brutally  empty.  She  felt  as  yet  no  sense 
of  loss ;  when  her  wrath  had  cooled,  she  was 
as  indifferent  as  the  heathen  who  has  tossed 
overboard  his  god.  A  man  who  wouldn't 
fight — oh,  goodness  gracious! 


THE  next  morning  Pansy's  eyes  rounded 
excitedly  every  time  the  knocker  sounded, 
but  at  first  only  dull  sightseers  came.  Then 
a  tiny  tapping  suggested  the  joke  of  some 
passing  child.  Pansy  flung  open  the  door  to 
give  joyous  chase,  and  nearly  frightened 
away  a  pretty  young  woman,  one  of  yester 
day's  group,  who  was  fluttering  on  the  door 
step. 

She  was  a  little  faded,  with  intense  brown 
eyes  under  a  thicket  of  brown  curls,  and  she 
came  in  as  though  it  were  a  tremendous 
exploit. 

"I  didn't  register  yesterday,"  she  said  in 

a  half  whisper,  giving  Pansy  a  series  of 

bright  little  nods.   "I  know  I  should  have 

— regulations! — and  it  has  been  making  me 

128 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

uncomfortable.  But  my  name — I  write,  you 
see.  Poetry!  And  if  one  is  discovered — you 
see?  One  is  bothered."  Her  vivid  glance 
searched  the  room,  then  she  ventured  it. 
"I'm  Laura  Lane,"  she  breathed,  and  closed 
her  eyes  tight,  as  though  it  were  not  quite 
fair  to  watch  the  effect. 

Pansy  could  not  help  being  impressed. 
"Still,  every  one  does  register,"  she  said. 
"Even  the  Vice-President  did.  And  no  one 
bothered  him." 

"Ah,  but  poetry!"  She  fairly  twinkled 
with  little  smiles  and  head  shakes.  "It's  dif 
ferent.  Autographs!  And  then  it's  so  inti 
mate — and  they  quote  you !"  Her  eyes  were 
squeezed  up,  her  very  hands  squeezed  up 
against  the  ordeal.  "But  if  I  really  ought 
to — "  She  was  suddenly  wide  open  again. 
"I'll  do  it  this  once,"  she  concluded 
129 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

abruptly,  and  turned  with  light  quickness 
to  the  register. 

She  stayed  for  hours.  Groups  came  and 
went,  the  Junch  hour  passed,  and  still  she 
lurked  in  the  darkest  corners,  or  bent  her 
face  close  down  over  cases  of  relics,  as  im 
movable  as  though  she  were  photographing 
them  on  her  brain.  Pansy,  seeing  her  stolen 
glance  at  every  arrival,  had  a  sudden  illu 
mination. 

"Well,  I  hope  he  doesn't  come,  just  to 
fool  her,"  she  said  indignantly;  and  yet, 
when  at  last  he  did  come,  she  forgot  every 
thing  but  the  swelling  joy  in  her  breast.  He 
was  so  content,  so  vigorous,  so  unconscious 
of  the  tearing  pathos  of  his  state!  That  was 
what  made  him  so  exquisitely  a  hero.  And 
he  liked  her  beaming  smile. 

"Seen  much  life  to-day?"  he  asked. 
130 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

"No;  they  were  all  pretty  old,"  Pansy 
said.  "Old  fathers  traveling  for  their  health 
and  old  daughters  going  with  them.  They 
aren't  much  fun!" 

"I  suspect  you  would  get  fun  out  of  any 
thing,"  "he  laughed.  Then  he  started  back, 
an  instinctive  hand  out  for  the  door,  his  eyes 
on  the  poetess,  who  seemed  to  be  bearing 
down  on  them  in  a  sidewise  fashion.  "Isn't 
that  one  of  those  tourist  ladies?"  he 
breathed. 

There  was  a  struggle,  bitter  but  short; 
then  fair  play  won. 

"Yes;  but  she's  Laura  Lane,  the  poetess," 
Pansy  admitted. 

"Oh,  really!  Is  she  very  famous?" 

"I — suppose  so.  She  must  be,  for  people 
are  always  bothering  her  for  her  auto 
graph.  At  least,  she  says — "  Then  Pansy 


broke  off.  "Oh,  well,  there's  no  sense  in 
being.a  cat,"  she  said  with  despondent  can 
dor.  "The  fact  that  I  never  heard  of  her 
doesn't  mean  much." 

An  American  poetess  evidently  interested 
him,  and  Laura  Lane,  finding  his  glance 
upon  her,  tacked  swiftly  past  them. 

"There  is  an  heirloom  here  that  should 
have  been  kept  by  our  mother,  England," 
she  let  fall  over  her  shoulder  in  passing. 

He  promptly  took  it  up. 

"Oh,  really?  May  I  ask  what—?" 

She  showed  him  a  pair  of  candle  snuffers 
alleged  to  have  belonged  to  Doctor  Johnson 
— backing  lightly  away  as  though  to  prove 
that  she  would  not  hold  him.  He  followed. 
Presently  they  were  making  a  tour  of  the 
room  together,  and  Pansy's  heart  ached  like 
a  bruise.  How  could  a  woman  let  him  lift 
132 


lids  for  her  and  stand  back  for  her!  Pansy 
would  have  served  him  till  she  dropped. 

Laura  Lane  had  a  tremendous  flow  of 
conversation.  Once  started,  it  swept  them 
from  treasure  to  treasure,  then  carried  them 
up  the  stairs,  through  the  rooms  overhead, 
and  down  again ;  for  an  hour  the  bright  jet 
never  ceased.  Then  she  suddenly  darted 
back  from  him. 

"I  shall  have  something  more  to  say  to 
you.  I  will  write  it,"  she  said  mysteriously, 
and  with  a  burst  of  little  nods  over  her 
shoulder,  she  was  gone.  The  hero  stood 
quite  still  where  she  had  left  him,  thinking 
over,  perhaps,  the  inspired  things  she  had 
said,  for  his  eyes  were  fixed  and  his  hand 
held  his  forehead.  Then  he,  too,  went  away, 
slowly,  as  though  dazed,  his  breath  labored. 
He  did  not  even  say  good  night  to  Pansy. 

133 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

The  custodian  spread  sheets  over  the  an 
tiques  and  brought  out  broom  and  dustpan 
with  a  suggestive  clatter,  but  still  the  rosy 
maid  dreamed  in  the  doorway. 

"Well,  Pansy,  haven't  you  had  about 
enough  of  that  door  for  one  day?"  Mrs. 
Sparks  demanded. 

Pansy  roused  herself  with  a  sigh  and 
stretched  longing  arms  up  over  her  head. 

"Oh,  Granny,  when  people  are  fine  and 
brave  and  heroic,  don't  you  just  want  to  die 
for  them?"  she  burst  out. 

"Well,  it  doesn't  keep  me  from  doing  my 
chores,"  said  Granny,  taking  a  clothes  brush 
to  a  red  velvet  scabbard. 

Early  the  next  morning,  before  the  Old 
est  House  in  America  was  fairly  open,  the 
fluttered  tap  sounded  again. 

"I  suppose  she's  brought  her  dinner  and 

134 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

her, bed  this  time,"  Pansy  muttered  as  she 
went  to  open  the  door;  but  the  poetess 
would  not  come  in.  She  offered  an  envelope 
at  arm's  length,  her  body  already  at  flight, 
while  her  spirit  showered  Pansy  with  bright 
nods  and  smiles  and  gleams. 

"For  him,"  her  lips  motioned.  "I  told 
him — he  will  come  for  it."  And  she  was 
gone. 

She  had  caught  his  name  from  the  regis 
ter;  there  it  was,  Basil  Lindsay,  Esquire,  in 
a  fine  darting  hand.  Pansy  placed  the  en 
velope  on  the  registry  desk  and  tried  to  for 
get  it,  but  her  day  was  dulled.  It  was  bitter 
to  see  other  people  grow  intimate  with  him 
while  she  just  stood  there. 

Several  days  passed  without  bringing 
him,  and  then  one  afternoon  at  closing  time, 
as  Pansy  let  out  the  last  tourist,  she  found 

135 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

him  on  the  threshold.    He  sent  a  cautious 
look  inside  before  he  ventured  over  it. 

"I  have  only  a  minute,"  he  explained.  "I 
thought  I  would  see  if  you  had  heard  any 
thing  about  another  such  old  sword." 

"No,  I  haven't;  but  this  came  for  you." 
She  gave  him  the  letter  with  glum  reluc 
tance;  then  the  cleverness  he  showed  in 
opening  it,  his  perfect  freedom  from  self- 
consciousness  or  self-pity  as  he  pressed  the 
envelope  against  his  coat  and  ran  a  finger 
under  the  flap,  swept  all  the  sulkiness  from 
her  heart. 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  could  give  you  the 
sword,  "  she  cried. 

He  did  like  her.    His,  "How  very  good 
of  you!"  came  with  a  rewarding  smile  as 
he  unfolded  the  note.    Then  he  saw  the 
136 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

shape  of  the  written  page  and  nervously 
drew  back. 

"By  jove,  it's  poetry,"  he  muttered,  turn 
ing  to  Pansy  as  though  for  protection.  They 
read  it  together. 

THE  SWORD 

Whether  in  faith  we're  going 

Heavenward  and  to  God, 
Whether  we  pass,  unknowing, 

Back  to  the  kindly  sod, 
Each  must  learn  at  the  portal; 

But  here  in  the  living  now, 
I  claim  your  deed  as  immortal, 

I  bind  this  wreath  for  your  brow! 

The  hero  was  hot  and  wretched.  "What 
the  deuce  is  it  all  about?"  he  objected. 

"Oh,  don't  you  see?"  Pansy  stuttered. 
Her  face  was  ablaze. 

137 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Into  the  battle  thunder, 

Flame  of  its  living  flame, 
Now  on  its  crest,  now  under, 

Leader  of  men,  he  came! 
Whole  as  the  good  God  made  him, 

Sword  in  his  brave  right  arm — 

"Oh,  I  say!"  The  leader  of  men  was 
brick  red  and  breathing  hard.  "Oh,  con 
found  the  woman!"  He  crumpled  the  pa 
per  as  though  it  were  something  shameful. 
This  passion  of  modesty  was  the  last  drop 
for  Pansy's  brimming  heart. 

"Oh,  you're  so  glorious!"  she  breathed, 
her  plump  hands  forcibly  holding  her 
breast  together. 

He  had  not  noticed.  His  protest  was 
striding  him  about.  "Oh,  it  is  too  sicken 
ing!"  he  stormed.  "I  did  think,  over  here, 
I'd  have  a  rest.  Oh,  I'd  like  to—"  He 
138 


.V* 


lie  crumpled  the  paper  as  though  it  were  something  shameful 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

squeezed  and  squeezed  the  poem,  desper 
ately  in  need  of  another  hand  to  tear  it. 
"You  see,  I  lost  my  arm  when  I  was  a  little 
chap,  stealing  a  ride — it  was  most  unro- 
mantic.  I  have  done  what  work  a  maimed 
man  can  in  all  this,  but  I  never  saw  a  battle 
field,  naturally.  And  the  dear  kind  public 
— I  couldn't  go  about  explaining,  could  I? 
Oh,  it  has  been  unspeakable!  I  give  you  my 
word,  the  old  ladies  would  try  to  make  me 
take  their  seats  in  the  tube.  And  the 
girls — !"  One  arm  could  not  do  justice  to 
the  girls.  "It  grew  too  awful.  I  had  to  run 
away  to  get  back  my  nerve.  I  was  beginning 
to  funk  going  on  the  streets — the  very  hooli 
gans  would  salute  and  call  me  captain.  I 
did  think  that  off  here —  Now,  I  ask  you, 
wouldn't  it  drive  any  man  mad?" 

Pansy  had  nothing  to  say.  She  could  only 

139 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

stare  at  him  with  round  eyes  whose  very 
blue  looked  dulled.  He  presently  laughed 
at  his  own  wrath,  took  a  last  look  at  the 
sword,  then  held  her  limp-hand  very  kindly 
in  his  strong  left  and  wished  her  well;  but 
she  could  find  no  words.  When  he  had 
gone,  she  drooped  in  the  doorway  until  she 
heard  Granny  coming;  then  she  slipped  out 
into  the  dusk. 

She  felt  curiously  empty,  as  though  the 
bright  center  of  her  being  had  collapsed. 
And  she  was  lonely,  and  lost,  and  the  fun 
had  gone  out  of  everything.  She  thought 
of  Mr.  Angus,  and  her  heart  smote  her  that 
she  had  left  him  in  anger  just  because  he 
was  not  a  fighter.  The  very  word  made 
Pansy's  cheek  hot.  Who  cared  about  fight 
ers,  anyway!  Suddenly  she  was  homesick 
for  him,  homesick  for  the  ready  sympathy 
140 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

and  understanding  that  he  always  had  for 
her.  Still  in  her  quaint  gown  and  cap,  she 
went  slowly  down  toward  the  gabled  shop. 

Mr.  Angus  stood  in  his  corner  doorway, 
smoking  an  evening  pipe.  He  looked  for 
midable — grown  up  and  different.  A  pass 
ing  cat  paused  to  wind  round  his  leg,  but 
he  coldly  ignored  it.  An  acquaintance 
called  a  greeting,  but  he  barely  nodded.  It 
was  painfully  clear  that  he  did  not  want  to 
be  bothered,  and  a  new  shyness  held  Pansy 
in  the  shadow  of  a  great  scarlet  hibiscus. 

She  had  not  noticed  a  step  behind  her  in 
the  lane,  and  a  voice  made  her  jump. 

"Well,  will  you  look  at  the  dolled-up 
kid!"  A  very  plain  youth  stood  over  her, 
grinning  vastly.  "Say,  who  cut  you  out  and 
painted  you,  and  what  little  girl  lost  you, 
h'h?" 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Pansy  was  no  coward.  She  would  have 
walked  away  in  haughty  silence,  but  he 
blocked  her  path. 

"I  just  want  to  see  if  you're  paper  or 
wax,"  he  said,  and  his  hand  closed  on  her 
forearm.  Her  wrath  flamed  up. 

"Will — you — get — out  I"  she  said  with 
biting  distinctness. 

"Why,  dolly,  aren't  you  fierce!"  He  still 
held  the  struggling  arm.  "I  wouldn't  scare 
you  for  worlds.  I  just  want — " 

"Let  that  girl  alone!"  The  voice  cut  like 
a  sword.  The  youth  dropped  Pansy's  arm 
with  startled  haste,  then,  seeing  how  unsol- 
dierly  an  opponent  he  had  to  deal  with,  he 
hunched  belligerent  shoulders  and  stood  his 
ground. 

"Where  do  you  come  in?"  he  wanted  to 
know. 

142 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

Mr.  Angus  spoke  with  a  concentrated 
quiet  that  shortened  Pansy's  breath. 
"Where  any  good  American  comes  in.  It 
is  the  American  boast  that  a  lady  is  safe 
anywhere.  What  is  the  sense  in  breaking 
it  down?" 

Their  hands  were  in  their  pockets,  but 
their  eyes  battled.  Then  the  youth  shrugged 
and  slouched  off  up  the  lane  again,  whis 
tling  his  superiority  to  the  encounter.  Mr. 
Angus,  rather  white  and  rigid,  turned  to 
Pansy. 

"You  are  not  frightened?" 

"Oh,  pouf — him!"  said  Pansy,  and  si 
lence  fell  between  them  while  her  thoughts 
struggled  for  words.  "You  didn't  fight," 
she  said  at  last,  "and  yet  you — you  just 
bossed  him,  Mr.  Angus!  You  talked  sense 
to  him.  He  could  have  fought  fists,  but  not 

H3 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

that  kind  of  mad.  You  didn't  fight  him — 
you  told  him.  And — and  it  worked!" 

His  stiffness  had  visibly  melted;  all  his 
old  indulgence,  his  joy  in  her,  was  beaming 
down  like  the  good  and  familiar  sunshine. 

"That's  what  we  mean  by  arbitration,"  he 
said.  "The  soldier  is  glorious,  Pansy;  you 
were  quite  right.  But,  oh,  my  child,  if  we 
could  only  teach  our  countries  to  act  as  we 
expect  high-minded  and  honorable  and  gen 
erous  men  to  act" — his  face  was  lit  with 
the  high  beauty  of  the  vision — "all  together 
for  the  world's  good!  Oh,  it's  a  dream,  it's 
idealistic  nonsense.  The  man  on  the  street 
will  tell  you  that  man  is  born  to  hate  and 
kill  and  grab,  and  that  the  sword  is  the  only 
argument,  the  one  final  power.  But  I  am 
not  so  sure!"  He  had  never  before  shown 
her  so  much  of  himself,  and  as  she  stared 
144 


into  his  poetic,  unworldly  face,  something 
stirred  deeply  within  her. 

"You  make  a  sword  look  pretty  sick,"  she 
said  solemnly,  and  did  not  understand  his 
burst  of  laughter. 

The  telephone  summoned  him,  and,  after 
lingering  a  few  minutes,  Pansy  reluctantly 
turned  toward  home.  At  the  bend  in  the 
lane  a  loud,  "Boo!"  made  her  jump  back. 
The  conquered  youth  was  again  grinning 
down  on  her. 

"Oh,  for  goodness' sake!" muttered  Pansy. 

"Now  don't  get  mad,"  he  began.  "Here, 
hold  on.  I  just  want  to  know  where  I  can 
find  a  dolly  like  you  for  a  little  friend  of 
mine  who — " 

Something  interrupted — something  very 
swift  and  crashing.  A  battering  ram  seemed 
to  have  come  round  the  corner.  Taken  un- 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

awares,  the  youth  went  down  with  a  heavi 
ness  that  left  him  no  rebound.  Mr.  Angus 
stepped  over  the  fallen  foe  and  laid  a  stern 
hand  on  Pansy's  elbow. 

"I  will  take  you  home,"  he  said  through 
locked  lips. 

At  the  door  she  ventured  an  apology:  "I 
ought  not  to  have  gone  out  in  these  clothes, 
Mr.  Angus.  I  am  so  used  to  them,  I  for- 
get" 

He  was  breathing  very  hard;  his  fist 
opened  and  shut  enjoyably;  he  looked  back 
as  though  he  would  fain  have  given  chase 
to  the  retreating  youth.  Poetry,  ideals,  phi 
losophy  had  been  wiped  out,  and  for  the 
first  time  Pansy  saw  that  he  was  young. 
And  he  could  fight!  Her  heart  leaped  to 
ward  him. 

"Of  course,  when  arbitration  won't 
146 


THE  CONTINENTAL  SWORD 

work — "  he  said  hesitatingly,  then  gave 
it  up. 

aOh,  I  think  you're  perfectly  splendid!" 
said  Pansy. 

They  beamed  on  each  other. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  had  a  no 
tice  to-day  about  a  sale  of  Americana,  a  pri 
vate  collection,  and  it  includes  just  such  a 
sword  as  you  wanted.  I  was  going  to  bring 
you  the  notice  to-night." 

Pansy  turned  away,  opening  the  door. 
"Oh,  never  mind  it,"  she  said.  "He's  gone. 
And  it  doesn't  matter  whether  he  finds  it 
or  not." 

Mr.  Angus  smiled  contentedly.  "Well, 
I'll  drop  in  anyway,"  he  said. 


VI 

THE  PHILOBIBLON 


IN  the  catalogue  of  the  treasures  con 
tained  in  the  Oldest  House  in  America, 
between  "Print,  Flora  and  Ceres,"  and 
"Plates  with  views  of  Stratford-upon-Avon 
done  in  black,  gilt  edges,"  was  "Philobib- 
lon,  or  Book  of  Love."  The  custodian  had 
never  so  much  as  lifted  the  broken  marbled 
covers  of  the  old  volume,  but,  when  Pansy 
came,  she  took  pains  to  put  it  in  a  safe  hid 
ing-place.  Pansy,  of  course,  had  pounced 
on  the  title  at  first  sight  of  the  catalogue, 
and  demanded  the  book  with  a  candor  that 
shocked  her  grandmother. 
148 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

"I'm  surprised  at  you,  Pansy!  Books  like 
that  are  not  fit  reading  for  a  nice  girl.  I've 
put  it  where  you'll  not  see  it,"  she  said  se 
verely,  and  Pansy,  abashed,  did  not  again 
ask;  but  it  can  not  be  denied  that  she  seldom 
cleaned  the  old  rooms  without  looking  into 
possible  hiding-places  for  the  wicked  but 
alluring  work. 

And  then,  one  spring  morning,  when  the 
winter  rush  of  tourists  had  dwindled,  leav 
ing  her  many  idle  hours,  and  the  heat  was 
bringing  every  bud  into  blossom,  she 
found  it. 

She  had  opened  the  clock-case  before,  but 
it  stood  in  a  shadowy  corner  with  appar 
ently  only  a  few  old  pamphlets  at  the  bot 
tom.  Driven  to  these  in  a  last  hope  of  en 
tertainment,  she  uncovered  a  heavy  book 
that  brought  a  squeal  to  her  very  lips,  where 

149 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

it  was  hastily  clapped  back.  Her  eyes, 
gleaming  triumph,  watched  an  open  door 
as  she  drew  out  her  discovery;  but  there 
was  only  time  to  decipher  the  blurred 
"Philobiblon"  across  the  back  before  the 
knocker,  unwelcome  for  once,  frightened 
the  book  into  hiding  again.  Pansy's  face 
was  a  study  in  suppressed  mischief  as  she 
opened  the  door.  All  she  thought  of  as  yet 
was  the  joy  of  outwitting  Granny. 

Oddly  enough,  the  young  man  she  ad 
mitted  wore  very  much  the  same  expression, 
though  neither  recognized  it  in  the  other. 
After  a  swift  glance  about  the  room,  he 
bought  a  catalogue  and  started  in  to  "do" 
its  treasures  with  a  minute  thoroughness 
that  seemed  to  Pansy  suspicious.  Experi 
ence  had  taught  her  that  men  of  his  build — 
lightweight,  queerly  fashionable  about  the 
150 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

shoulders,  with  little  canes  and  smart  waist 
coats — did  not  come  to  the  Oldest  House 
for  their  own  sakes,  but,  invariably,  to  show 
it  to  some  girl.  Lacking  the  girl,  he  must 
have  another  purpose,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
prosperous  aspect,  it  was  conceivable  that 
he  might  slip  an  antique  or  two  into  his 
pocket  when  he  went  away;  she  had  read 
often  enough  of  the  "gentleman  burglar"  to 
have  an  eye  out  for  him.  For  an  hour  she 
watched  relentlessly  as  the  visitor  toiled 
through  the  antiques.  In  spite  of  smiling 
eyes  and  an  air  of  whistling  as  he  walked 
about,  any  one  could  have  seen  that  he  was 
restless  and  uneasy. 

Suddenly  he  spoke. 

"Your  catalogue  refers  to  a  genuine 
Raphael,"  he  began. 

Pansy  led  him  to  the  blackly  shining  Ma- 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

donna  that  held  the  center  of  the  end  wall 
and  ran  off  the  appropriate  speech : 

"We  pause  in  reverence  before  this  pic 
ture  of  the  seated  Madonna.  You  will  ob 
serve  the  cherub  in  the  lower  left-hand 
corner;  the  great  Raphael  himself  is  sup 
posed  to  have  painted  the  hands.  Connois 
seurs  from  all  over  the  world  have  stood 
here  and  agreed  that  only  the  great  Raphael 
could  have  painted  those  hands." 

The  young  man  seemed  lost  in  venera 
tion.  He  studied  the  hands  from  every 
angle,  he  hung  his  head  upside  down  for 
fresh  vision.  For  at  least  fifteen  minutes 
they  held  him,  lost  to  everything  else  except 
his  watch,  at  which  he  took  a  dozen  furtive 
glances. 

"I  am  dubious  about  the  third  and  fourth 
fingers  of  the  left  hand,"  he  said  at  last. 
152 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

"The  right  hand  is  unmistakably  Raphael, 
but  those  two  fingers — I  don't  know!  I 
should  like  to  make  a  study  of  them." 

Pansy  was  growing  impatient.  Granny 
had  gone  out,  and  she  would  have  had  a 
good  chance  at  the  hidden  book  but  for  that 
persistent  presence.  The  young  man's  ac 
tions  seemed  harmless  enough.  He  spent 
ten  minutes  holding  a  pencil  at  arm's 
length,  squinting  past  it  with  one  eye  while 
his  thumb-nail  took  measurements. 

"They  are  wonderful,  these  modern 
methods  of  telling  the  genuine  from  the 
false,"  he  informed  her.  "Slow,  but  infal 
lible." 

Pansy  was  no  fool,  and  did  not  care  if  he 
found  it  out.  "Like  the  Bertillon  system," 
she  said,  giving  him  a  straight  and  knock 
down  look.  To  her  surprise,  he  burst  into  a 

153 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

laugh,  a  light-hearted,  relieved  sort  of  laugh 
that  made  him  almost  likable.  But  before 
he  could  speak,  the  knocker  sounded,  and 
then  sounded  again  in  a  shy  and  hurried 
fashion,  and  his  attention  became  once  more 
glued  to  the  cherubic  fingers. 

Pansy  always  remembered  her  tourists, 
and  the  girl  she  admitted  had  come  only  a 
day  or  two  before,  dragging  listlessly  be 
hind  an  energetic  and  domineering  mother. 
She  had  looked  as  if  she  never  had  any  fun, 
Pansy  had  thought.  To-day  her  dark  in 
tense  face  showed  a  secret  blaze  of  excite 
ment,  and  yet  she  was  clearly  no  nearer  to 
"fun";  it  was  as  though  happiness,  for  her, 
might  be  only  a  new  kind  of  trouble. 
Pansy's  greeting  brought  no  response. 
Though  the  graceful  body  hesitated  at  the 
thresholda  the  spirit  had  flown  past. 

154 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

The  student  of  Raphael  glanced  up,  care 
lessly,  then  allowed  a  surprised  light  to 
break  over  his  countenance  and  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"Why,  Nina — how  jolly!"  he  exclaimed, 
coming  to  shake  her  hand.  "Are  you  stay 
ing  here?  This  is  luck!" 

She  could  not  play  up  or  even  take  in  his 
playing.  "I  couldn't  get  away,"  she  burst 
out.  "Mother  stayed  in  to  answer  some  let 
ters — hours  and  hours.  It  was  horrible.  I 
thought  you  would  have  given  up.  I  nearly 
went  mad,  Lester.  What  did  you  think?" 

It  was  useless  to  glance  warning  at  her, 
and,  after  all,  there  was  no  one  present  but 
a  negligible  young  woman,  undoubtedly 
sympathetic,  for  she  had  turned  away. 

"I  understood,  of  course.  And  you're 
only  a  few  minutes  late,"  he  comforted  her, 

155 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

lifting  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "Pretty  good  to 
see  you!"  he  murmured. 

Their  eyes,  meeting,  forgot  to  question. 
They  sat  down  together  on  the  John  Quincy 
Adams  davenport,  in  the  shadow  of  the  old 
clock,  at  whose  base  lay  hidden  all  the  se 
crets  of  love. 

For  a  long  time  the  steady  murmur  of 
their  voices  cast  a  rich  glow  of  romance  over 
the  old  room.  Pansy  honorably  kept  her 
back  turned,  pretending  to  be  absorbed  in 
darning  a  frayed  corner  of  the  Betty  Caven 
dish  sampler,  but  felt  that  she  had  a  right 
to  what  her  sharp  ears  could  gather.  The 
two  had  evidently  been  enduring  the  tor 
tures  of  separation  and  forbidden  inter 
course  for  three  months. 

"Oh,  the  stupid  old  sights  I've  been 
dragged  to,"  she  cried,  "and  the  stupid  old 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

people  in  stupid  hotels,  and  the  music  every 
night  that  made  me  almost  scream." 

New  York  also  had  been  a  Sahara,  but  he 
wanted  to  forget  that.  When  she  suffered 
over  deceiving  her  mother,  he  would  have 
diverted  her  from  that,  too. 

"We're  here!"  he  kept  reminding  her. 
The  happiness  of  the  moment  was  enough 
for  him,  but  he  could  not  win  her  from  the 
dark  past  and  the  difficult  present  and  the 
uncertain  future.  She  could  not  take  the 
moment  unless  the  whole  were  hers,  and  his 
easy  faith  that  things  would  work  them 
selves  out  some  way  could  not  even  gain  her 
attention.  At  last  he  was  again  glancing  at 
his  watch. 

"There  are  some  queer  old  things  here," 
he  suggested.  "Shall  we  have  a  look  at 
them?" 

157 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

They  made  a  slow  tour  of  the  rooms,  and 
Pansy  could  see  that  now,,  having  a  girl  to 
show  them  to,  he  was  interested  in  the  treas 
ures,  and  wanted  to  talk  about  them ;  but  the 
girl  wanted  to  talk  only  of  themselves. 
When  he  read  long  inscriptions  to  her,  she 
grew  restless,  and  presently  she,  too,  was 
looking  at  her  watch. 

"I  ought  to  go  back,"  she  said.  "I  will 
try  to  get  away  earlier  to-morrow,  Lester." 
They  looked  at  each  other  over  their  clasped 
hands,,  not  with  the  clinging  gaze  of  their 
meeting,  but  with  involuntary  question  in 
their  eyes. 

"Three  months  is  a  very  long  time,"  she 
said  wistfully.  "You  seem — a  little  differ 
ent.  Do  I?" 

"Just  three  months  sweeter,"  was  the 
prompt  answer — perhaps  too  prompt.  It 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

did  not  seem*  to  be  quite  what  she  wanted. 
Her  dark  glance  was  oblivious  of  Pansy  as 
she  passed  out,  but  he,  following  after  a  dis 
creet  interval,  paused  to.  smile  down  on  the 
plump  figure  in  the  white  cap  and  print 
gown. 

"You  make  a  mighty  nice  little  picture  in 
this  old*  doorway,"  he  said.  "Might  be  bet 
ter  worth  studying  than  the  other  cherub." 
His  tone  openly  admitted  the  joke  between 
them  and  Pansy  had  too  much  fun  in  her 
not  to  laugh,  but  when  he  had  gone,  she 
frowned. 

"I  just  don't  like  him,"  she  decided. 

Tourists  and  Granny  kept  her  busy  the 
rest  of  the  day.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  Mrs. 
Sparks  must  have  suspected  the  discovery, 
for  she  stayed  within  range  of  the  clock- 
case  all  evening.  Pansy  grew  impatient, 

159 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

then  indignant.  Mr.  Angus,  coming  down 
the  lane  at  his  usual  hour,  found  her  sitting 
on  the  door-step,  glowering  over  doubled 
fists. 

"Well,  Pansy?"  It  was  an  unlocking 
voice,  promising  infinite  sympathy.  Pansy's 
fists  relaxed  and  her  speech  was  loosened. 

"Mr.  Angus,  why  shouldn't  a  nice  girl 
want  to  know  about  love?"  she  burst  out. 
"She's  born  wanting  to  know  about  it,  I 
don't  care  how  nice  she  is!  Why  must  she 
play  she  doesn't  care?  What's  the  sense?" 

He  never  failed  her,  never  laughed  when 
she  was  really  in  earnest  or  met  her  joke 
with  solemnity,  but  it  must  be  admitted  that 
he  sometimes  needed  a  moment  to  get  his 
breath.  He  sat  down  on  the  step  beside  her 
and  took  one  knee  into  a  rather  tight  clasp. 

"I  could  tell  you  something  about  love, 
160 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

Pansy,"  he  said,  his  tone  carefully  imper 
sonal.  "What  do  you  want  to  know?" 

She  could  find  no  questions.  "I  don't  be 
lieve  I  want  to  be  told  anything,"  she  ad 
mitted  frankly.  "I  want  to  find  it  out  by 
myself — perhaps  out  of  a  book." 

"Oh,  no,  dear!"  The  protest  was  involun 
tary,  and  he  softened  it  with  a  hand  laid 
over  hers.  Some  of  the  knowledge  that 
Pansy  sought  lay  in  that  touch,  but  she 
drew  away  from  it. 

"You're  as  bad  as  Granny,"  she  scolded. 
"I'm  not  so  young  and  frail  as  you  think. 
My  goodness — haven't  I  been  to  the 
movies?  If  being  nice  means  that  you're 
never  going  to  think  about  love  till  you're 
married — well,  then,  I'm  not  nice.  And 
now  you  know  it." 

His  deepened  breathing  was  a  chapter 
161 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

on  the  mysterious  subject,  if  she  had  only 
recognized  it.  Every  breath  seemed  to  be 
gin  and  end  in  a  sigh.  Getting  no  answer, 
she  presently  grew  uncomfortable.  His 
warm  approval  was  a  very  important  ele 
ment  in  her  life. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  mean  anything  so  very 
dreadful,"  she  temporized.  "I've  had  lovers 
here  to-day,  and  they  make  you  wonder. 
They're  awfully  funny,  Mr.  Angus!" 

She  clearly  wanted  him  to  smile,  so  he 
tried  to.  "How  did  they  show  their  absurd 
ity?"  he  asked  rather  wearily. 

Pansy  told  what  she  had  gathered  of  par 
ental  opposition  and  clandestine  romance. 
"They  were  crazy  about  each  other,  and 
had  taken  all  that  trouble  to  meet,"  she  con 
cluded,  "and  then  they  didn't  get  a  bit  of 
real  fun  out  of  it.  They  didn't  laugh  once!" 
162 


THE  PHILOBIBLON" 

Mr.  Angus  abruptly  rose  to  his  feet. 
"Love  does  not  laugh,  Pansy!"  His  voice, 
lower  than  usual,  had  a  stifled  quality  that 
frightened  her.  "Not  in  its  deep  moments. 
There  is  laughter  in  the  outer  court,  but 
never,  never  in  the  temple.  That  is  some 
thing  for  you  to  know  about  love."  His 
eyes,  dark  and  somber,  held  her  lifted  gaze 
for  a  strange  moment;  then  he  strode  away 
without  even  a  good  night. 

"My — gracious!"  muttered  Pansy,  trying 
to  sound  like  her  every-day  self;  but  it  was 
not  successful,  for  all  her  gallant  young 
body  was  suddenly  weak  and  trembling,  and 
her  heart  dragged  in  her  side. 

The  moment  passed,  but  it  left  her  deeply 

disturbed.    "I  suppose  I'm  in  love  again," 

she  admitted  with  awed  candor,  "but  it's 

acting  very  strangely."    Tears  rose  to  her 

163 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

eyes.  "It  has  always  been  fun  before,"  she 
faltered. 

It  kept  on  acting  strangely  all  that  eve 
ning.  At  midnight  a  night-gowned  figure 
came  stealing  into  the  old  room,  past  gate 
legged  table  and  Jacobean  highboy,  past  the 
print  of  Flora  and  Ceres  and  the  plates 
showing  views  of  Stratford-upon-Avon 
done  in  black,  gilt  edges,  to  the  clock-case 
in  the  far  corner.  The  flickering  light 
showed  an  excited  and  defiant  Pansy.  She 
set  down  the  candle  and  apparently  ad 
dressed  the  clock. 

"I  don't  care,  I  want  to  see  that  book," 
she  informed  it  very  distinctly.  "It  can't 
hurt  me,  and  I  have  a  right  to  know  about 
love.  Every  girl  has.  And  even  if  it  is  a  sin 
to  look  at  it,  I  would  do  it  just  the  same. 
I'd  sin  to  know  what's  in  that  book.  If  I'm 
164 


A  hand  seemed  to  close  over  hers,  drawing  it  back 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

not  nice,  then  I'm  not,  that's  all.  And  I 
don't  want  to  be."  Having  stated  her  posi 
tion,  Pansy  opened  the  door  of  the  case,  and 
her  hand,  slipping  under  the  pamphlets, 
had  closed  on  hidden  book  when  a  curious 
thing  happened. 

"Oh,  no,  dear!"  a  voice  said,  warm  and 
living,  yet  soundless;  at  the  same  moment 
a  hand  seemed  to  close  over  hers,  drawing 
it  back.  She  knelt  very  still  under  the  in 
visible  grasp,  learning  secrets  that  the  real 
hand  had  only  hinted,  great,  swelling  se 
crets  that  no  book  on  earth  could  have  dis 
closed.  Presently  she  dropped  her  flushed 
cheek  against  an  invisible  wrist. 

"'I'm  sorry,  Angus.  I'll  be  good,"  she 
whispered,  and,  closing  the  clock-case,  she 
went  softly  back  to  bed. 


2 

MORNING  brought  the  lovers  again. 
They  met  at  the  door,  coming  together 
with  a  visible  rush  of  the  spirit  that  made 
the  doorkeeper  feel  very  tender  of  them. 
She  kept  other  tourists  away  from  their 
corner,  and,  when  the  number  multiplied, 
she  reminded  her  couple  that  they  had  not 
yet  visited  the  rooms  overhead.  The  young 
man  looked  back  from  the  stairs  to  twinkle 
his  acknowledgments. 

"Another  Raphael  up  here,  isn't  there?" 
he  asked  with  a  laugh. 

Pansy  maintained  a  disapproving  gravity. 
"Love  doesn't  laugh,"  she  silently  instructed 
him. 

Granny  was  ailing  to-day,  and  her  double 
1 66 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

duties  kept  Pansy  so  busy  that  she  had  al 
most  forgotten  the  lovers  overhead  when, 
later  in  the  morning,  a  determined  and  busi 
nesslike  hand  demanded  admission.  Pansy, 
opening  the  door,  stood  inhospitably  blank, 
but  the  lady  was  not  sensitive  to  shades  of 
welcome.  She  paid  her  quarter  very  much 
as  though  the  doorkeeper  were  a  slot,  and 
forthwith  took  possession  of  the  room  and 
its  contents.  The  old  china  was  her  first  ob 
jective,  but  there  was  nothing  to  prevent 
her  sailing  on  up  any  minute  to  the  rooms 
above,  where  her  own  daughter  with  a  for 
bidden  lover  was  undoubtedly  occupying 
the  Henry  Clay  settle  by  the  Daniel  Web 
ster  andirons.  And  though  this  couple  had 
not  strongly  appealed  to  Pansy's  affections, 
on  general  principles  she  was  for  the  lovers, 
every  time. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

There  was  no  other  staircase  down,  no 
possible  place  of  concealment  up  there;  if 
the  mother  chose  to  mount,  she  must  come 
on  them  as  inexorably  as  a  pursuing  thun 
der-storm.  All  Pansy  could  do  was  to  give 
warning.  Leaving  her  post,  leaving  price 
less  treasures  at  the  mercy  of  three  strange 
tourists,  she  fled  up  the  stairs. 

In  the  agitation  of  the  moment  she  had 
forgotten  that  it  is  kinder  to  cough  a  warn 
ing,  and  her  light  feet  brought  her  on  them 
unannounced.  It  was  not  the  orthodox  ta 
bleau,  however.  The  girl  sat  on  the  Henry 
Clay  settle,  heavy  eyes  watching  one  swing 
ing  foot,  while  the  young  man  leaned 
against  the  (restored)  chimney-piece,  his 
hand  in  the  act  of  smothering  a  yawn.  He 
brightened  visibly  at  Pansy's  appearance, 
and  even  Nina  looked  up  with  alacrity. 
168 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  thought  I'd  better  tell 
you,"  Pansy  burst  out.  "Your  mother  is 
down  there." 

She  could  not  help  enjoying  the  sensation 
she  had  caused.  The  girl  started  to  her  feet, 
too  overwhelmed  by  the  news  to  have  any 
social  consciousness  of  the  messenger. 

"Asking  for  me?" 

"Oh,  no.  She  doesn't  dream  you're  here. 
But  she  may  come  up-stairs,  you  know;  and 
I  can't  stop  her,"  Pansy  explained. 

The  young  man  would  have  played  a 
valiant  part.  "I  will  see  her,  Nina;  I'll  take 
all  the  blame,"  he  was  beginning,  buttoning 
his  coat  about  him  for  action,  but  she 
stopped  him. 

"No.  No,  Lester."  She  had  to  think  for 
a  long  moment  before  she  could  go  on,  but 
he  seemed  even  prayerfully  ready  to  wait. 

169 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"No.  I  will  go  down  and  get  her  to  come 
away;  and  you  must  go  back  to  New  York," 
she  decided.  "We  can't  meet  any  more  like 
this.  It  isn't  right." 

"I  suppose  it  isn't,"  he  conceded,  very 
gloomily. 

"No.  We  must  just  wait  till  she  changes 
or — something.  We  can  love  each  other 
without  meeting  or  writing,  Lester." 

"Oh,  rather!" 

"Well,  then — "  Her  troubled,  puzzled 
eyes  sought  his.  "We  won't  give  up,"  she 
said  faintly. 

"I  should  say  not!"  was  the  hearty  an 
swer,  and  Pansy  kindly  left  them. 

When  the  girl  followed  her  down,  a  mo 
ment  later,  the  dark  intensity  of  her  face 
was  softened  into  something  very  like  re 
lief.  She  slipped  her  hand  confidingly  un- 
170 


Tm  sorry,  but  I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you,"  Pansy  burst  out 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

der  her  mother's  arm  before  the  latter  had 
seen  her. 

"I  have  been  here  for  hours,"  she  ex 
plained.  "It  isn't  very  interesting.  Let  us 
go  home,  Mother!" 

There  was  no  one  left  in  the  room  when 
the  young  man  appeared.  His  fore  glance 
down  the  stairs  was  humorous,  his  air  was 
whistling.  He  stood  in  front  of  Pansy,  look 
ing  down  into  the  rosy  youngness  of  her  face 
with  growing  appreciation. 

"You're  a  good  little  sport,"  he  said.  "If 
there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  you — "  His 
hand  went  hesitatingly  toward  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  but  her  frown  checked  him. 

"There  isn't,"  she  informed  him. 

"Perfectly  sure?"  His  gay  eyes  suggested 
a  different  kind  of  reward,  and  Pansy  grew 
dangerous. 

171 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"You  might  go  and  let  me  get  my  lunch," 
she  said. 

"All  right!  Just  one  thing!"  He  took 
cool  possession  of  her  left  hand,  lifting  it 
very  close  to  his  amused  face.  "I  want  to 
see  if  the  cherub's  third  finger  is  genuine," 
he  explained.  Then,  as  she  snatched  it  away, 
he  went  off  laughing.  "Good-by,  little  mad 
girl,"  he  called  back  in  a  whisper  from  the 
door. 

Pansy  violently  rubbed  her  hand  in  her 
skirt  and  hated  him;  but  her  wrath  very 
soon  was  lost  in  a  sense  of  saddening  discov 
ery.  This  seeing  life  was  not  always  fun! 
Love,  on  trial,  had  made  a  poor  showing. 
Love  could  bring  two  people  rushing  to 
gether,  then  coolly  abandon  them  with  all 
their  vows  on  their  hands — for  you  needn't 
tell  Pansy  that  those  two  were  not  glad  to 
172 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

separate.  A  man  could  love  one  girl  at  ten 
and  flirt  with  another  at  twelve.  She,  Pansy, 
had  been  deeply,  gloriously  in  love  only  the 
night  before,  and  now,  in  the  bright  hot 
noon,  where  was  it?  There  was  no  one  to 
remind  her  that  she  had  slept  little  and 
eaten  less,  no  one  to  explain  that  the  pas 
sions,  like  the  tides,  have  their  daily  ebb  and 
flow.  A  sense  of  her  own  blind  need  of  un 
derstanding  became  a  bitter  grievance  as 
the  afternoon  dragged  on.  Granny  dozed 
in  her  room,  and  no  tourists  came.  When 
the  closing  hour  struck,  instead  of  getting 
out  the  sheets  and  the  polishes,  Pansy 
marched  over  to  the  clock-case,  seized  the 
forbidden  book,  and  settling  down  on  the 
floor,  opened  it  on  her  lap  far  more  boldly 
than  she  would  have  opened  the  Bible. 
(Among  the  young  people  of  Pansy's  large 
'73 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

family,  it  was  considered  humorous  to  be 
caught  reading  the  Bible.)  Her  mouth  had 
a  defiant  straightness,  but  her  eyes  were 
eager. 

The  closely  printed  pages  looked  curi 
ously  dry,  and  the  chapter  at  which  she 
opened  did  not  sound  especially  wicked: 
"Some  Remarks  on  the  Prefaces  to  the  First 
Edition  of  the  Classics,"  by  Beriah  Bot- 
field.  After  convincing  herself  that  no 
sinister  double  meaning  lay  under  Mr.  Bot- 
field's  Remarks,  she  found  a  more  promis 
ing  chapter,  headed  "Private  Letters  from 
the  Earl  of  Stafford  to  his  Third  Wife," 
and,  a  little  breathless,  ashamed  yet  deter 
mined,  she  plunged  in  after  the  forbidden 
fruit. 

The  fourth  page  found  her  skipping. 
174 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

The  noble  Earl  was  a  painfully  dull  corre 
spondent,  and  his  few  formal  phrases  of  at 
tachment  contained  nothing  that  was  new  to 
Pansy.  Another  chapter,  entitled  "A  Few 
Spanish  Proverbs  about  Friars,"  did  offer 
an  occasional  lawless  allusion,  but  of  a 
vague  dull  order — as  if  any  one  cared  what 
a  Friar  did !  Then,  confronted  by  "A  Short 
Account  of  Some  of  the  Most  Celebrated 
Libraries  in  Italy,"  Pansy  indignantly 
turned  to  the  title  page.  "Bibliographical 
and  Historical  Miscellanies,"  she  read 
there;  and  then,  "The  Philobiblon  Society 
is  composed  of  persons  interested  in  the  his 
tory,  collection  or  peculiarities  of  books." 
In  spite  of  the  catalogue,  there  was  not  one 
word  about  love. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  Pansy  muttered. 
175 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  thrust  back  the 
book  and  to  look  as  if  she  had  been  merely 
dusting  the  clock-case.  Then  she  prepared 
Granny's  supper  and  went  at  the  day's  tasks 
with  guilty  energy.  Mr.  Angus  found  her 
still  working  off  her  sentence.  For  the  first 
time  in  all  their  merry  intimacy,  her  eyes 
could  not  meet  his. 

"Mr.  Angus,"  she  began,  rubbing  dili 
gently  at  an  ancient  silver  toddy  ladle, 
"what  does  the  word  Philobiblon  mean?" 

He  sat  down  as  though  he  were  very  tired, 
his  elbows  on  the  table.  He  had  not  been  at 
all  like  himself  lately.  "Why,  love  of  books, 
I  should  say."  He  spoke  absently,  his  eyes 
on  Pansy's  vigorous  yet  soft  young  arms, 
bared  above  their  dimpled  elbows. 

Her  color  deepened,  but  she  kept  on: 
"Well,  suppose  some  one  was  making  out  a 
176 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

catalogue  in  a  hurry — mightn't  he  translate 
it 'Book  of  Love'?" 

"If  he  didn't  know  much  Greek,  I  sup 
pose  he  might." 

"Queer  mistakes  do  happen,"  said  Pansy. 
"I  think  there  ought  to  be  some  corrections 
made  in  our  catalogue,  Mr.  Angus." 

Glancing  up,  she  was  startled  to  meet  a 
wholly  new  expression.  In  any  one  else  she 
would  have  called  it  exasperation.  It  cer 
tainly  was  not  sympathetic. 

"Pansy,  why  do  you  always  call  me 
'Mr.'?"  he  burst  out.  "Good  heavens — 
twenty-eight  is  not  venerable!  Do  you 
never  under  any  circumstances  think  of  me 
as  Angus?" 

Pansy  was  grieved,  contrite.  "Oh,  yes, 
Mr.  Angus!  Why,  I  called  you  that  to  my 
self  only  last  night." 

177 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"Did  you,  Pansy?"  The  frown  vanished, 
swallowed  up  by  the  old  beaming  joy  in  her. 
"How  did  it  come  about?" 

Again  she  could  not  quite  face  him.  "Oh, 
you  seemed  to  tell  me  not  to  do  something, 
and  I  didn't — then.  I  did  it  later,"  she 
added  with  a  quick  flush. 

"Something  very  bad?" 

"It  didn't  turn  out — very  bad."  An  un 
willing  smile  deepened  the  curve  of  her 
downcast  cheek.  "I  got  left,"  she  admitted, 
with  a  stolen  glance  into  his  face.  "But, 
Mr.  Angus — " 

"What's  that  I  hear?" 

She  only  looked  puzzled. 

"What  did  you  call  me?" 

"Oh!"  She  laughed,  but  could  not  go  on. 

"Ah,  well,  if  you  don't  want  to!"  he  con 
ceded  sadly. 

178 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

"But,  Mr.  Angus,  I  do,"  she  cried.  "I'd 
adore  to  call  you — that.  Only  I  can't  seem 
to  get  going." 

(He  moved  over  beside  her  and  took  away 
the  toddy  ladle. 

"I  wish  you  to  give  your  whole  mind  to 
it,"  he  said  with  pedagogic  severity.  "A 
big  girl  like  you  ought  not  to  find  it  hard. 
A-n-g-u-s,  Angus." 

"Angus,"  said  Pansy  in  a  small  voice. 
His  arm  was  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  and 
she  needed  no  book  to  tell  her  what  might 
happen  any  minute  if  she  stayed  still.  She 
stayed  very  still. 

"Say  it  again,  to  be  sure  you  have  it,"  he 
commanded,  bending  nearer,  as  though  it 
might  be  hard  to  hear.  And  then,  before 
anything  at  all  had  happened,  a  loud  knock 
at  the  door  made  them  both  jump. 
179 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Pansy  opened  to  a  messenger  and  had  to 
sign  for  a  little  parcel.  The  address,  when 
she  brought  it  into  the  light,  set  her  laugh 
ing: 

"Girl  at  the  Door, 

probably  named  Rosy, 

Oldest  House  in  America." 

"What  can  it  be?"  she  wondered,  break 
ing  a  jeweler's  seal. 

"Good  imitation  of  impertinence,  what 
ever  it  is,"  Mr.  Angus  muttered,  but  she 
was  too  excited  to  heed. 

Under  pink  cotton  was  a  twist  of  tissue- 
paper,  and  inside  that  a  delightful  turquoise 
ring.  Pansy  put  it  on  with  a  squeal  of  joy, 
then,  looking  for  an  explanation,  found  an 
unsigned  line  of  writing: 
1 80 


"Do  you  often  get  presents  of  jewelry  from  strangers?"  he  wanted 

to  know 


THE  PHILOBIBLON 

"  'A  token  of  gratitude,  for  the  only  genu 
ine  cherub's  left  hand,'  "  she  read,  her  pleas 
ure  visibly  abating.  "Oh,  him!"  she  said 
disgustedly. 

Mr.  Angus  had  moved  back  to  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  The  chased  handle  of  the 
toddy  ladle  seemed  to  be  absorbing  his  at 
tention. 

"Oh,  I  wish  it  were  any  one  else,"  Pansy 
went  on,  studying  her  finger.  "It's  per 
fectly  sweet.  Well,  I  don't  know  his  ad 
dress,  so  I  can't  return  it,  and  I  don't  have 
to  thank  him — that's  one  comfort."  She 
tried  it  on  different  fingers  and  discussed  its 
beauties  until  Mr.  Angus'  lips  were  sud 
denly  unlocked. 

"Do  you  often  get  presents  of  jewelry 
from  strangers?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

181 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"No  such  luck,"  was  the  sturdy  answer. 
"If  you'd  like  to  try  it  on,  Mr.  Angus — " 

But  Mr.  Angus  had  discovered  that  He 
was  late  for  an  appointment,  and  hurried 
away. 


VII 

THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 


THE  sign  of  the  Oldest  House  in  America 
hung  dejected  in  the  sun;  the  very  street 
looked  dusty  and  forlorn.  When  the 
knocker  sounded,  the  door,  which  had 
sprung  open  all  winter  as  though  opening 
were  fun,  dropped  back  slowly  and  grudg 
ingly,  with  a  sciatic  reluctance.  Instead  of 
being  welcomed  by  the  rosy  serving  maid 
of  an  Elizabethan  tavern,  the  tourist  was 
frowned  on  by  a  severe  old  lady  who  looked 
as  if  she  had  lost  something  and  suspected 
the  tourist  of  having  taken  it. 

-83 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

Few  came  these  hot  days,  but  whenever 
four  or  five  strayed  in  at  once,  the  custodian 
firmly  assembled  them  and  ran  off  her  tale. 
The  George  Washington  cradle,  the  conti 
nental  sword  beaten  from  a  plowshare,  the 
Fountain  of  Youth  in  the  back  court,  the 
wishing  ring  that  would  grant  secret  de 
sires,  the  genuine  Raphael — their  story  was 
droned  out  like  a  penance,  and  all  the  time 
the  troubled  old  eyes  looked  past  and  be 
yond  the  audience,  and  the  gray  head  was 
turned  aside  as  though  to  listen. 

"La's  and  gen'm,  you  do  not  see  anything 
signif  in  this  fragm'  ol'  brick.  You  ask 
why  we  keep  it  so  caref  in  a  glass  case.  Yet 
you  will  see  that  no  jew'l  this  'nique  c'lec- 
tion  has  a  more  'mantic  origin.  This  bit  of 
brick—  A  gust  of  hot  wind  rattled  the 
door-latch,  and  the  custodian  stood  for  a 
184 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

moment  rigid  as  a  statue  of  expectation, 
then  went  on  with  no  consciousness  of  her 
pause — "comes  from  the  house  in  St.  Do 
mingo  built  by  Diego,  son  of  Christ'  Co- 
lumb',  'scoverer  'Merica.  .  .  .  This 
quaint  chair  with  the  beaded  seat  and  harp 
back  is  known  as  a  bride  chair.  If  a  young 
woman  si's  in  's  chair,  she  will  become  a 
bride  within  a  year."  She  gave  them  the 
usual  chance,  evidently  unaware  that  her 
audience  consisted  of  three  mature  ladies,  a 
lame  man  and  a  boy  of  twelve.  "These  silv' 
knee  buckles,  worn  ball  giv'n  Newport  'n 
'onor  Gen'  La-fay-ette — "  The  voice  be 
came  more  and  more  blurred  till  it  was  like 
that  of  a  person  talking  in  sleep.  The  boy 
started  to  giggle,  but  found  himself  sud 
denly  impaled,  mouth  open,  on  her  clear 
sharp  gaze. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"You  can't  do  this  thing  properly  if  you 
keep  watching  for  her,"  she  said  straight  at 
him,  even  through  him.  "You  know  she 
isn't  coming  for  a  week  yet.  What's  the 
sense?"  The  boy  wondered  uneasily  what 
he  was  being  charged  with,  while  his 
mother  motioned  him  to  stop  it,  whatever 
it  was.  The  tale  droned  on  as  though  there 
had  been  no  interruption. 

After  the  tourists  had  gone,  the  old  house 
was  as  quiet  as  its  dead  past.  Mrs.  Sparks 
took  a  cup  of  tea  on  a  corner  of  the  kitchen 
table,  but  had  not  the  heart  to  cook  any 
thing.  She  had  done  the  work  of  the  house 
early  in  the  morning,  for  there  was  no 
young  sleep  that  would  be  disturbed,  and 
her  own  sleep  had  dwindled  to  a  few  uneasy 
hours  since  the  light  had  gone  out  of  the 
world  two  weeks  ago ;  so  there  was  nothing 
1 86 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

to  do  now  but  sit  in  the  twilight  with  folded 
hands. 

A  step  outside  brought  a  gleam  of  cheer. 
Mr.  Angus  had  been  very  good  about  com 
ing  in  since  Pansy  left.  Sometimes  they  did 
not  talk,  but  it  was  a  comfort  to  have  him 
sitting  there.  To-night  his  long  presence  in 
the  doorway  looked  as  drooping  and  for 
lorn  as  Mrs.  Sparks  felt. 

"Any  news?"  he  greeted  her. 

"No;  nothing  since  Tuesday's  letter. 
Pansy's  no  hand  to  write,"  Mrs.  Sparks 
said. 

"I  suppose  she  is  having  too  good  a 
time."  He  openly  longed  to  be  contradicted, 
but  Granny  was  not  a  comforter. 

"Most  likely.  It's  a  dull  life  for  the  child 
here.  I've  my  doubts  if  she  comes  back  at 
all,"  she  said,  and  then,  seeing  him  stricken 

,87 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

past  speech  at  the  thought,  she  piled  it  up : 
"Oh,  she  went  for  three  weeks,  but  when 
she  gets  with  her  family  and  her  old  friends, 
she'll  feel  different.  It's  natural.  And  she's 
grown  up  a  good  bit  this  winter.  There'll 
be  young  men  about — " 

Mr.  Angus  sprang  from  his  chair  as 
though  it  had  become  red-hot.  Granny 
watched  him  with  sardonic  eyes  as  he  flung 
himself  about  the  room;  then  she  suddenly 
let  him  have  it. 

"Well,  then,  why  did  you  leave  her  go? 
You  had  your  chance  to  keep  her." 

He  whirled  so  swiftly  that  several  hun 
dred  dollars'  worth  of  genuine  antiques  had 
a  close  shave.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Man,   hadn't  you  eyes  in  your  head? 

i 

Pansy  thinks  there's  no  one  in  the  world 

like  you.    She  looked  real  grieved  the  day 

188 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

she  went,  and  it  wasn't  at  leaving  her  old 
Granny,  I'll  be  bound.  She's  got  over  it  by 
now,  of  course — " 

"That  is  just  it,"  he  broke  in.  "She  is  so 
young,  so  unawakened — it  didn't  seem  fair 
not  to  give  her  a  chance  to — to  get  over  it. 
Don't  you  understand?" 

"No,"  said  Granny  shortly.  "In  my  day, 
if  a  man  wanted  a  girl,  he  courted  her.  And 
that's  what  the  young  men  up  at  home  will 
do.  Those  are  fine  notions,  but  they'll  leave 
you  an  old  bachelder,  I'm  thinking.  Well, 
that's  your  look-out,  and  I  don't  mean  to  be 
partial  to  my  own  flesh  and  blood;  but  if 
there's  a  girl  on  this  earth  that's  Pansy's 
equal  for  sweetness  and  goodness  and  a 
merry  heart,  I've  yet  to  see  her." 

He  had  sat  down  again,  dropping  his 
head  into  his  hands.  "You  make  me  very 

189 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

wretched,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  have 
held  myself  back.  I  wanted  her  to  see  me 
—from  a  distance — without  anything  to  in 
flame  her  judgment.  I  am  ten  years  older 
than  she — I  wanted  her  to  be  sure  she  could 
accept  that.  Oh,  I  wanted  her  happiness 
above  everything  on  earth!" 

Granny  had  no  mercy.  "Well,  if  you 
think  she'll  be  happier  married  to  some 
cheeky  young  Connecticut  farmer  who's 
got  a  new  Ford,  you've  done  just  right," 
she  congratulated  him. 

The  face  he  lifted  looked  touchingly 
young.  "Do  you  think  I  might  go  up 
there?  Would  that  do?"  he  asked  humbly. 
"I  can  start  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Sparks  recognized  that  she  had 
gone  too  far.  "Ah,  well,  you  might  give 
her  a  chance  to  come  back,"  she  tempo- 
190 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

rized.  "It's  only  a  week  more,  and  she 
hasn't  said  she  wouldn't" 

"Only  a  week,"  he  repeated  with  a  ghost 
of  a  smile.  "A  week  can  be — " 

The  latch  of  the  front  door  had  rattled. 
It  might  be  a  gust  of  wind,  but  the  two 
watched  it  as  though  turned  to  stone.  It 
lifted,  and  slowly,  cautiously,  the  door 
opened  an  inch,  two  inches. 

"Who  is  it?"  Granny's  voice  was  like  a 
smothered  cry,  and  the  door  swung  joy 
ously  wide  in  answer. 

"Hello,  Granny!"  called  a  gay  voice, 
boiling  over  with  life :  joyous  blue  eyes  un 
der  a  blue  hat  brim,  rosy  curves  deepened 
with  laughter,  a  gallant  presence  firmly 
planted  on  two  sturdy  feet — and  the  light 
was  back  in  the  world  for  Granny. 

"Well,  Pansy,  you  might  have  let  me 
191 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST   HOUSE 

know  you  were  coming,"  she  grumbled  in 
the  girl's  embrace. 

"I  didn't  know  it  myself.  Oh,  hello,  Mr. 
Angus!"  Pansy  gave  him  her  hand  negli 
gently,  apparently  scarcely  aware  of  his 
presence.  "I  got  worried  about  you, 
Granny.  I  knew  that  in  the  hour  of  death 
you  wouldn't  let  one  andiron  go  unpol 
ished,  and  it  didn't  seem  fair  to  leave  you 
another  minute.  Oh,  but  I've  had  fun!" 
She  glanced  toward  Mr.  Angus,  giving  him 
a  little  edge  of  smile,  but  would  not  meet 
his  eyes.  "Parties — " 

She  plunged  into  the  tale  of  her  gaieties, 
but  she  did  not  tell  it  like  the  Pansy  of 
two  weeks  ago.  Something  was  changed  in 
her,  some  milestone  passed.  Both  her  listen 
ers  felt  that  the  trip  had  offered  new  and 
deep  experience  that  held  her  inner  thoughts 
192 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

even  while  she  laughed  and  made  them 
laugh.  Pansy  at  last  had  a  secret.  When 
Mr.  Angus  rose  to  go,  she  gave  him  her 
hand  in  the  same  averted,  by-the-way  fash 
ion. 

"Come  in  again  soon,"  she  said,  as  though 
she  had  forgotten  that  he  came  in  every 
night. 

Alone  with  Granny,  she  embraced  her 
again,  and  emphasized  the  anxiety  that  had 
driven  her  back  a  week  ahead  of  her  time. 

"You're  a  good  child,  Pansy,"  was  the 
grave  answer,  but  when  the  girl  had  gone 
to  bed,  a  smile  twitched  in  the  region  of 
Granny's  penetrating  old  nose.  "Well,  she's 
back,  anyhow,"  she  muttered. 

Pansy  took  her  place  by  the  door  in  the 
morning,  but  not  in  the  old-time  costume 
that  she  had  fashioned  to  suit  the  Oldest 

193 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

House.  A  new  linen  blouse  and  skirt  made 
her  seem  alarmingly  like  a  grown-up  young 
lady. 

"Oh,  I  think  I  won't  dress  up  any  more," 
she  said  in  answer  to  a  question.  "It's  a  kid 
trick.  And  it  seems  to  give  every  one  the 
right  to  smile  at  me.  You  know,  I'm  nine 
teen  now." 

Granny,  looking  at  the  vividly  blossom 
ing  face,  thought  that  very  possibly  people 
might  still  smile  when  they  were  admitted, 
but  she  never  in  her  life  had  said  anything 
like  that.  "Well,  see  that  you  behave  nine 
teen,"  was  her  kind  of  response. 

It  was  fun  to  be  back!  Pansy  did  not  say 
it  in  words,  but  every  step,  every  laugh  said 
it  for  her.  The  tourist  business  was  surpris 
ingly  brisk  that  morning,  as  though  to  re 
ward  her  return,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
194 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

busiest  time,  when  they  had  a  delegation 
of  school-teachers  and  three  bridal  couples 
on  their  hands,  a  knock  that  belonged  to 
evening  had  the  audacity  to  interrupt.  Mr. 
Angus,  fresh  and  summery  in  white  flannel, 
stood  on  the  step,  his  Panama  in  one  hand 
and  a  quarter  in  the  other.  He  had  expected 
to  play  his  joke  on  a  rosy  maid  in  print 
gown  and  scarlet  stockings,  and  the  young 
lady  in  white  linen  was  plainly  a  shock,  but 
Pansy's  dignified  acceptance  of  the  quarter 
gave  him  back  his  cue. 

"I  hear  you  have  an  interesting  collection 
of  Americana  here,"  he  began. 

"I  believe  we  have,"  said  Pansy,  and  of 
fered  him  the  pen :  "Will  you  kindly  regis 
ter?"  Their  glances  crossed  as  he  took  the 
pen,  but  neither  flinched.  "Is  there  any 
thing  you  especially  wanted  to  see?  Or  will 

195 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

you  go  round  with  the  group?"  she  added. 
"They  have  only  just  started." 

"I  am  looking  for  something  very  spe 
cial,"  he  said,  carefully  blotting  the  register. 
"A  treasure  that  is  unique  to  this  collection. 
It  has  been  absent,  and  I  wanted  to  be  sure 
that  it  is  back  again." 

Laughter  tugged  at  Pansy's  lips  but  could 
not  break  her  down.  "Oh,  you  mean  the 
bride  chair,"  she  said.  "Yes — one  of  the 
spindles  had  to  be  replaced  a  while  ago.  It 
gets  very  hard  wear — the  tourists  sit  in  it 
such  a  lot.  But  it  is  back  again.  The  cus 
todian  is  just  coming  to  it." 

She  indicated  the  group,  spreading  out 
about  a  low  chair  with  a  beaded  seat  and 
harp  back.  "If  a  young  woman  sits  in  this 
chair,  she  will  become  a  bride  within  a 
year,"  said  Granny,  and  made  the  proper 
196 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

pause.    There  were  giggles  and  whispers, 
but  no  one  sat. 

"They  never  do  it  at  the  time,"  Pansy 
explained.  "But  later  they  pretend  they're 
tired  and  just  accidentally  drop  down,  as  if 
it  were  any  old  chair.  Then  some  one  tells 
them,  and  they  squeal  and  jump  up." 

"But  the  mischief  is  done,  of  course." 

"Oh,  yes ;  they're  in  for  it."  Pansy  looked 
over  the  group  with  an  experienced  eye. 
"That  big  one  in  the  pink  blouse  will  do  it 
— unless  the  thin  old  girl  in  the  tulle  hat 
beats  her  to  it.  You  watch." 

Mr.  Angus  suddenly  exploded  with 
laughter.  "Pansy,  you  cynic!  And  I 
thought  you  such  a  guileless  little  maid!" 

"Well,  I've  got  an  eye  in  my  head.  And 
it  has  been  seeing  life  this  winter,  I  can  tell 
you." 

197 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"How  did  home  seem  to  you,  going 
back?" 

He  had  touched  the  edge  of  her  secret. 
She  glanced  quickly  to  see  if  he  suspected 
it,  then  looked  away  with  a  grave  little 
smile.  "Oh,  great  fun,"  she  said.  "But  you 
know,  if  you  stand  here  laughing  with  me, 
Mr.  Angus,  Granny  will  give  it  to  us  both. 
I'm  on  duty." 

He  did  not  look  like  laughing  now.  "Did 
you  call  the  young  men  up  at  home  Mr. 
Johnny  and  Mr.  Tom  and  Mr.  Abner?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

Pansy  flushed,  but  evaded  the  point. 
"Granny  has  been  reading  my  letters  to 
you,"  she  complained. 

"Well,  I  didn't  get  any  letter  of  my  own 
to  read,  Pansy.  Not  even  a  picture  postal. 
And  I  wrote  you  a  long  letter  every  night." 
198 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

She  started.  "Why,  I  didn't—" 

"Oh,  they  were  not  mailed,"  he  said 
coolly.  "But  I  did  think  you  might  have 
answered  at  least  once!" 

A  smile  was  stealing  into  the  deep  curves 
about  Pansy's  firmly  controlled  lips.  Her 
glance  seemed  to  be  measuring  a  jump; 
then  she  took  it. 

"Well,  I  did!"  she  said,  and  turned  away 
to  admit  another  delegation  of  school-teach 
ers.  Granny  was  taking  her  flock  up-stairs, 
so  Pansy  had  to  play  custodian,  and  Mr. 
Angus,  finding  himself  deserted,  presently 
went  back  to  his  own  neglected  business. 


THE  shop  from  the  rear  appeared  an  or 
dinary  two-and-a-half-story  house,  left  over 
from  the  days  when  this  was  a  residence 
neighborhood;  but  the  side  and  front,  with 
their  plaster  and  cross-beams,  gables  and 
leaded  casements,  looked  so  alluringly  mel 
low  and  English  that  few  tourists  with 
money  to  spend  could  resist  the  hanging 
sign  of  Angus  MacDonald,  Antiques  and 
Reproductions.  The  business  had  been 
founded  by  Angus,  Senior,  and,  though  it 
was  the  son  who  had  transformed  the  prem 
ises  and  built  up  the  trade,  he  was  still  only 
"Mr.  Angus"  to  those  who  remembered 
shrewd,  kindly  old  MacDonald.  He  had 
his  workrooms  on  the  second  floor,  but  there 
was  plenty  of  space  in  the  back  yard  for  a 
200 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

workshop,  if  he  ever  wished  to  put  the 
pleasant  upper  stories  to  a  more  personal 
use.  He  spent  the  rest  of  the  day,  when  he 
was  not  demanded  by  customers,  taking 
measurements  up  there,  tapping  thought 
fully  on  partitions,  and  selecting  from  his 
stock  certain  delightful  articles  of  furni 
ture,  which  he  piled  in  a  store  room.  When 
a  rosewood  sewing  table  vanished,  his  as 
sistant  protested: 

"There  was  a  lady  nearly  bought  that  this 
morning;  and  I  think  she's  coming  back." 

"She  can't  have  it,"  said  the  lover.  "Tell 
her  we  will  reproduce  it  at  the  same  price," 
the  business  man  added. 

The  assistant  prophesied  that  they  would 
lose  the  sale,  but  there  was  no  doing  any 
thing  with  Mr.  Angus  to-day.    He  merely 
whistled  and  took  more  measurements. 
201 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

He  had  his  plans  in  his  pocket  when  he 
went  down  to  the  Oldest  House  that  eve 
ning,  but  there  was  no  chance  to  show  them, 
for  another  caller  was  getting  down  from 
a  small  car  at  Pansy's  threshold.  He  was  a 
big,  ruddy,  handsome  young  man  in  blue 
serge  and  a  boyish  sailor,  and  he  grinned 
good-humoredly  at  Angus,  evidently  in  no 
fear  of  him  as  a  rival,  even  though  they 
knocked  at  the  same  door.  Angus,  poetic 
and  slightly  stooping,  winced  at  the  relent 
less  power  of  beef  over  spirit,  and  knew  a 
black  desire  to  run  the  other  through  the 
insolent  young  body  as  he  made  polite  re 
sponse. 

The  door  opened,  but  Angus  went  un- 
greeted  in  the  astonishment  of  Pansy's 
"Why,  Abner!" 

It  was  his  little  joke  to  be  surprised  at 
202 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

her  surprise.  "Why,  you  haven't  forgotten 
that  we  have  an  engagement  for  to-night, 
have  you?"  he  asked,  ready  to  be  injured. 
"Here  I  am,  with  the  machine." 

Pansy  could  not  play  up.  Angus  hoped 
that  it  was  dismay  that  held  her  so  flushed 
and  confused,  but  felt  a  sickening  uncer 
tainty. 

"But  I  sent  you  word — "  she  stammered. 

"Oh,  well,  I  didn't  care  what  state  of  the 
Union  we  kept  it  in,"  he  said  largely.  "I 
couldn't  bring  the  new  Ford,  but  I  picked 
up  one  near  the  station,  and  it's  the  same 
old  moon,  anyway.  You  aren't  thinking  of 
going  back  on  me,  are  you?" 

Angus,  of  course,  had  to  come  to  her  re 
lief.  "Perhaps  you  will  let  me  drop  in  some 
other  night,"  he  suggested,  and,  conscious 
that  his  smile  was  a  grin  of  pain,  he  said 
203 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

good  night  and  went  hastily  away.  If  he 
had  only  walked  more  slowly,  he  would 
have  heard  the  explosive,  "Abner,  you  per 
fect  idiot!"  that  relieved  Pansy's  congested 
emotions. 

"I  don't  see  it,"  was  the  cool  answer. 
"Put  on  your  hat  and  come  along,  Pansy. 
A  date's  a  date." 

For  three  very  long  nights  and  days  An 
gus  kept  away  from  the  Oldest  House.  It 
was  not  only  the  beefy  presence  of  this  Ab 
ner  that  was  stripping  him  of  what  little 
flesh  he  had;  in  the  sense  of  his  own  per 
sonal  failure  lay  the  intolerable  bitterness. 
That  was  what  women  liked — a  Lochinvar 
dash  across  country  to  win  them,  a  clear, 
single,  male  determination  that  was  not 
hampered  by  Quixotic  scruples.  Abner's 
limitations  of  mind  and  soul  were  written 
204 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

all  over  his  healthy,  good-humored  young 
face,  yet  he  had  proved  the  better  lover, 
and  it  was  as  a  lover  that  a  man  was  meas 
ured  in  a  girl's  eyes.  Angus  read  his  own 
failure  so  clearly  that  he  did  not  even  ques 
tion  what  Pansy's  estimate  might  be. 

"Well,  I  can  be  a  good  loser.  That  is  all 
that's  left,"  he  said  wearily  as  he  closed  the 
shutters  at  the  end  of  the  third  day.  Then 
he  wondered  with  a  start  if  he  had  spoken 
aloud,  for  some  one  had  pushed  open  the 
shop  door  and  stepped  inside,  hidden  from 
him  by  a  colonial  secretary. 

"You  wanted  to  see  something?"  he 
asked,  coming  forward.  Then  his  profes 
sional  manner  fell  from  him  and  his  heart 
cried  out:  "Pansy!" 

She  was  laughing,  yet  embarrassed,  and 
so  plainly  could  not  find  her  tongue  that  he 
205 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

had  to  find  his  and  help  her.  He  dimly  real 
ized  that  Abner,  at  such  a  crisis,  would  have 
followed  his  uncomplicated  instincts  and 
gathered  her  into  his  two  arms,  but  such 
knowledge  availed  Angus  nothing.  He 
could  only  obey  his  chivalrous  need  to  pro 
tect  his  love  even  from  himself. 

"Come  in!  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "Hasn't  it  been  hot!" 

Pansy,  fresh  and  fine  in  sheer  white  (she 
and  her  mother  must  have  had  an  orgy  of 
sewing  in  those  two  weeks),  gave  him  a 
quick  glance  and  looked  away.  "Then  you 
are  all  right,"  she  said.  "Granny  was  afraid 
you  might  be  ill — you  haven't  been  in  for 
so  long." 

"Oh,  no,  not  ill.  But  I  thought,  as  you 
had  a  guest  from  home—  He  could  not 
206 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

maintain  that  easy  tone  for  another  syllable, 
so  he  stopped  short. 

"Yes;  Abner's  here."  Pansy  was  appar 
ently  trying  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  floor  with 
the  toe  of  her  white  shoe,  and  it  was  re 
vealed  to  him  with  a  dreadful  clearness  that 
she  had  come  to  say  something,  something 
that  even  her  candid  spirit  found  difficult. 
He  could  not  help  her;  there  was  a  limit  to 
what  might  be  demanded  of  a  man.  Instead 
he  showed  her  with  false  enthusiasm  a  table 
he  had  just  picked  up.  It  had  a  marquetry 
inlay  in  its  marble  top  and  was  delightfully 
ugly. 

"Well,  it  may  have  character  and  all  that, 

but  I  wouldn't  be  found  dead  with  it  in  my 

house,"  said  Pansy,   successfully  diverted 

for  the  moment.  "Where  has  the  little  rose- 

207 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

wood  work  table  gone?    Oh,  I  hope  that 
hasn't  been  sold.   I  did  love  it." 

Silently  Mr.  Angus  took  out  a  key  and 
led  her  to  the  store  room.  There  with  the 
sewing  table  were  all  the  things  she  had 
loved  best — a  Jacobean  chair  of  carved  wal 
nut,  an  old  oak  dresser  and  a  spice  cup 
board,  a  pole  screen  with  a  silken  banner 
embroidered  in  faded  garlands,  and,  dear 
est  of  all,  an  ancient  Chinese  bedroom  set 
of  black  lacquer  decorated  with  birds  and 
flowers  done  in  mother-of-pearl. 

"Why,  there  are  my  things!"  she  cried. 
"These  are  my  best  favorites!  Why  have 
you  hidden  them  away  like  this?" 

She  did  not  dream  why,  and  before  the 
clear  candor  of  her  eyes  his  own  fell,  dis 
couraged. 

"Oh,  I  had  a  crazy  idea  of  turning  the 
208 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

up-stairs  into  an  apartment  and  furnishing 
it,"  he  said.  "Don't  you  think  it  would  be 
just  the  thing  for  some  young  married 
couple?" 

She  was  caressing  the  bird  of  paradise  on 
the  lacquer  bureau  with  reluctant  fingers. 
Her  lips  had  taken  a  pathetic  droop.  "Oh!" 
she  said — a  little  hurt  note  that,  of  course, 
might  have  been  all  for  the  furniture,  but  it 
brought  him  close  to  her  shoulder. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  the  plans?"  He  laid 
them  before  her  and  Pansy  bent  rather  sulk 
ily  to  look. 

"I'm  fed  up  on  bridal  couples,"  she  mut 
tered,  but  when  she  realized  that  he  had 
put  the  kitchen  on  the  sunny  side,  she  had 
to  take  hold.  "Do  you  want  to  roast  the 
cook  as  well  as  the  dinner?"  she  demanded. 
"It's  likely  to  be  the  bride  herself,  you 
209 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

know;  and  much  fun  she'd  be  to  come 
home  to  after  an  afternoon  in  a  southwest 
kitchen  I" 

"By  George,  I  didn't  think  of  that.  See 
what  other  blunders  I've  made,  Pansy." 

His  humility  was  touching,  and  the  im 
practicability  of  the  plan  he  had  made 
gradually  restored  her  spirits.  She  moved 
his  fireplaces  and  bunched  his  plumbing, 
and  rescued  enough  waste  room  for  a  large 
linen  closet  and  a  broom  cupboard.  Pres 
ently  she  was  up-stairs,  looking  over  the 
ground  for  herself  and  discovering  new 
possibilities  every  moment.  The  lines  of 
the  rooms  and  the  rows  of  leaded  windows 
gave  a  potential  charm  that  made  her  very 
sober. 

"If  you  had  seen  as  much  of  bridal 
couples  as  I  have,  you  wouldn't  waste  Chi- 
210 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

nese  lacquer  on  them,"  she  burst  out.  "It  is 
going  to  be  too  darling  to  rent  to — " 

"Oh,  I  was  not  planning  to  rent  it,"  he 
said  quickly. 

There  was  a  flame  in  her  averted  face. 
He  read  it  as  understanding,  but,  before  he 
could  cross  to  her,  she  had  opened  the  win 
dow  and  was  waving  her  hand. 

"Hello!"  she  called.  "Wait  a  moment — 
I'm  coming.  It's  Abner,"  she  explained 
over  her  shoulder.  "He  invited  himself  to 
supper,  so  I  suppose  I'd  better  go  home  and 
get  it.  It  must  be  late."  She  talked  on 
cheerfully  as  she  ran  down  to  the  door,  but 
not  one  word  did  he  answer,  though  he  fol 
lowed.  In  the  doorway  she  looked  out  at 
the  waiting  Abner,  then  back  into  his  dark 
face,  and  again  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
something  to  say.  It  took  an  awful  moment 
211 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

of  balancing  and  fumbling  with  the  latch  to 
get  started. 

"Abner  is  still  here,"  she  began.  A  long 
breath,  taken  with  reluctant  courage,  was 
weakly  released  again.  She  edged  past  the 
door,  measuring  the  distance  from  her  to 
Abner  with  a  scared  glance.  "Well,  he  says 
he  won't  go — till  I  tell  him — I'm  definitely 
engaged  to  some  one  else!"  She  finished 
breathless  and  ran,  unconsciously  clutching 
at  Abner's  sleeve.  "Good  night,  Mr.  An 
gus!"  she  called  back  with  desperate  polite 
ness;  but  Mr.  Angus  could  produce  no  civ 
ilized  sound.  He  could  only  stand  where 
she  had  left  him,  his  transfigured  face  hid 
den  in  the  dusky  room. 

Granny  opened  the  door  to  him  that  eve 
ning.  Pansy  was  very  busy  darning  a  bit  of 
old  tapestry,  too  busy  to  take  off  her  thimble 
212 


bfl 
'S 

6 


o 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

for  his  hand-shake  or  to  look  up  from  her 
colored  silks.  Abner  sat  across  the  corner 
of  a  highly  carved  and  uncomfortable  chair, 
some  of  whose  knobs  seemed  to  have  pene 
trated  his  spirit,  for  he  swung  a  gloomy 
foot  and  took  no  interest  in  conversation. 
Angus  was  willing  but  incoherent,  and 
Pansy  labored  between  them  until  her  pa 
tience  was  dangerously  frayed. 

"Granny,  my  company  is  stupid  to 
night,"  she  said  suddenly.  "Tell  them  a 
story — the  one  about  the  Seminole  chief  and 
the  wax  fiowers.  I  can't  work  so  hard  ov,er 
them." 

"I  doubt  if  they'd  be  interested,"  ob 
served  Granny. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  would.  But  this  chair  is 
too  high."  She  looked  about.  "Angus,  let 
me  have  that  low  one  over  there."  She 
213 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

brought  out  his  name  as  composedly  as  if 
it  had  never  presented  the  slightest  dif 
ficulty,  and  refused  to  see  the  look  that 
thanked  her  as  he  started  up — or  the  still 
more  poignant  look  with  which  he  recog 
nized  the  chair.  A  full  moment  passed  be 
fore  he  came  back  with  it — a  quaint  low 
chair  with  a  beaded  seat  and  a  harp  back. 
Pansy  transferred  herself  to  it  with  perfect 
composure,  and  the  morose  Abner  did  not 
notice,  but  from  Granny's  corner  there  came 
an  explosive  snort.  It  might  have  been 
laughter — no  one  had  ever  heard  Granny 
laugh — or  perhaps  only  a  cough ;  whatever 
it  was,  it  left  no  trace  on  her  severe  features. 
A  moment  later  she  made  some  excuse  to 
leave  the  room,  and  from  the  other  side  of 
the  door  the  sound  was  distinctly  repeated. 
Pansy's  chin  just  quivered  for  an  instant, 
214 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

and  Abner,  perhaps  dimly  conscious  of  un 
seen  forces,  dragged  himself  up. 

"Well,  I'll  go  along,"  he  said.  "See  you 
to-morrow,  Pansy." 

She  made  a  frightened  attempt  to  keep 
him,  but  Angus  opened  the  door  and  sped 
him  with  a  hearty  hand-shake.  Then  he 
came  back  to  Pansy  and  took  the  work  from 
her  hands. 

"Little  bride!  Little  bride!"  he  said  over 
and  over  until  she  was  all  his. 

"What  made  you  come  back,  Pansy?"  he 
asked  presently.  She  was  still  in  the  bride 
chair,  and  he  had  brought  a  stool  up  close 
beside  her. 

"You  did,"  said  Pansy.    Her  eyes,  big 
with  new  knowledge,  were  looking  into  his 
face  as  if  she  had  never  wholly  seen  it  be 
fore.  "You  called  me." 
215 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

"You  heard,  then!" 

"Oh,  yes.  Every  day.  Not  so  much  in 
the  mornings,  when  you  were  busy,  but  to 
ward  sunset,  and,  oh,  all  the  evening.  You 
called,  called,  Angus!  It  would  come  just 
like  your  voice.  I  couldn't  have  made  it  up. 
It  had  to  be  you." 

"And  did  you  answer?" 

"Didn't  you  get  it?" 

"Ah,  how  could  I  believe?  It  might  have 
been  only  my  own  longing." 

She  had  no  secrets  now.  "It  was  so 
dreadful,  being  away  from  you!  I  had  no 
idea — I  didn't  dream,  when  I  went  away 
—Do  you  remember  Budge  and  Toddy? 
Well,  my  heart  went  just  like  Toddy,  all 
day  long — 'Wanto — shee — Angus!  Wanto 
— shee — Angus!' — till  I  couldn't  bear  it  an 
other  minute." 

216 


THE  BRIDE  CHAIR 

"And  so  you  ran  back.  Ah,  Pansy,  when 
you  opened  the  door — " 

When  they  came  to  speech  again  they 
were  on  the  John  Quincy  Adams  davenport, 
where  other  lovers  had  sat,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  clock-case,  at  the  dark  end  of  the  old 
room. 

"I  thought  Abner  must  win  you  with  that 
Lochinvar  dash  of  his,"  he  said  with  a  long 
sigh  for  past  miseries.  "Didn't  it  touch  you 
at  all?  Surely  any  girl  must  have  been 
moved  by  that!" 

Pansy  straightened  up  with  a  sudden  re 
turn  to  her  every-day  self.  "Oh,  yes,  it  was 
dashing,"  she  said  vigorously.  "And  it  was 
just  Abner  all  over.  He  has  got  to  have 
what  he  wants  the  minute  he  wants  it,  no 
matter  where  it  is  or  what  it  costs.  That's 
very  romantic  in  a  lover,  but  when  you 
217 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OLDEST  HOUSE 

think  of  being  married  to  it — thank  you, 
I'd  rather  have  a  little  plain  sense!" 

His  old  joy  in  her  was  carving  his  face 
with  laughing  lines.  "Ah,  Pansy,  how  does 
any  one  go  straight  without  you?"  he  cried, 
in  pity  for  an  ungladdened  and  undirected 
world. 


MAY  2  6  1983 
DATE  DUE 


PS353.9   045A8 

Tompkins,    Juliet   rtilbor, 

1871- 
At  the  sign  of  the  oldest 

house  I 


AA  001261 


3  1210  00404  4630 


